#also the guy that put a pig in concrete

[xylospongium]

Adelard Dekker is basically Bob the Builder of tma-verse

[bagadew]

I have FINALLY got around to watching Only Murders in the Buliding and have just caught up! I have some minor theories on what’s going on and what might be important, but I’m putting those under the cut because the first thing I’m saying about this show is series 4 spoilers:

Big (Small) Theories:

I think there were two killers. One based in the East: who told the killer Charles/Sazz was on the way, and cleared up the crime scene after the murder; and one based in the West who actually took the shot. I think they were in communication through the locked apartment ratio, which probably means the East killer has access to a means of reaching it.

I think Sazz was deliberate, either with her being the intended victim due to her investigation, or with her deliberately putting herself in Charles place to take the hit for him. Either way Sazz obviously knew more than she should have done if she was just accidental collateral. The fact that Sazz was whistling when she died seems significant, with it either being how the West killer knew it was her instead of Charles, or how the East killer realised West had shot the wrong person.

While I don’t think Christmas Guy is involved, I think there’s a reason we haven’t met him yet. The tinsel in the locked apartment suggests he had either a third way in, knew the code for some reason. Given the West killer also needed that, he could have some useful information. Personally, I think his motivations and the West Residents shifty nature has something to do with the bath pig. If it’s their lock, that could explain the code being Oh hELL.

Also, and this one’s a bit more out there and a bit less to do with this specific murder: Is there something in the cold case that was mentioned? This is the second time it’s been mentioned, so it could be important. It seems to be the case the podcast would fall back on if the trio ever run out of live murders, so could someone be pulling the strings so that the trio never get round to it? The same ‘they’ who tried to shut down the Tim Kono case back in season one?

Important stuff:

Here are some things I think are important to remember, but I don’t have any concrete theories around:

Someone has Sazz’s phone. It remains to be seen how involved they are in her death, but whoever it is clearly doesn’t want the murder investigated.

At least one of the windows in the West are painted shut, possibly they all are.

I feel like there could be something more to TAP IN, as in it could only be part of the message Sazz meant to write, or it could have an additional meaning.

[homo-adaptionem]

Urbex Tips

Urban Exploration tips:

Learn basic first aid & bring a first aid kit.

Don't go in alone. Bring at least two other people.

Build up your strength before hand.

You need a tetanus shot every 10 years. If you haven't had one in the last 10 years, get one before you start.

If you're asthmatic, bring your inhaler.

Do research on the building / area beforehand. Figure out why it's abandoned. Learn the history. If it's condemned, find out why. Could be health reasons.

Enter at your own risk.

Tell a trusted person(s) where you're going. Give them the location of any places you're exploring. This is in case something happens, they know where you are/were going. Make sure they know who you're going with.

Hard hats. Being serious. Shit falls, even in "newer" buildings.

Wear gloves (thick leather work gloves, not that plastic faux leather shit, actual leather. not disposables, they won't do shit against glass and metal), goggles (to protect your eyes), a face mask (ideally construction-grade but the fabric types will work well enough), thick, long pants (like jeans), work or hiking boots, long sleeves, and something to cover your hair, like a beanie. If you've got long hair, put it in a ponytail and stuff it under the hat. Trust me. Also deodorant is a good idea.

Invest in a headlamp (easier than using a flashlight)

Avoid the "white 16 year old boy with friends" mentality. Don't do stupid shit because it's funny. If that floor seems unstable, avoid it. Don't smash shit. Don't jump down dark holes.

Don't steal shit. It's tempting, but I don't recommend it.

Avoid tagging / making graffiti, esp identifying graff. Again, tempting, but you can still get in trouble for it.

If someone catches you, BAIL. Don't get into a fight. Don't stick around for pigs to show up. Don't engage, just get out of there. Most of the time, urbex is trespassing.

If you find (which you probably won't) large sums of money, it might be best to report it. It could be stolen or counterfeit and get you in trouble if you use it. But ultimately it's your own choice.

If you find (which you probably won't) bloody clothing, blood-covered knives (or other weapons), or a gun, report it. Fuck pigs yada yada, but it could be connected to someone's death. Don't touch anything, don't take anything, just call the authorities and tell them where it is. I mention this because it could be connected to the assault or murder of sex workers, partners, and/or minorities.

If you find drugs (which you probably won't), report it. Don't use it. Could be laced. Not safe to use, bro, not worth it.

If you find a body(s), (which you probably won't), report it. Check for a pulse, but if the body is cold and/or stiff, call the authorities. If they're still warm, you can try CPR on them while you call for an ambulance. If they have a pulse, call an ambulance. If it looks like they're ODing, use some narcan if you've got it.

If you find Satantic imagery or whatever, 9 times out of 10 it's just teens fucking around. Like I promise you, they were probably left by some guys wanting to cause a stir or trying to make their own ARG or something.

The building isn't haunted, sorry to say. There are rational explanations for every "supernatural" thing you'll encounter. Sometimes they're the aforementioned guys. If you're superstitious, scared of the dark, easily frightened, or suffer from psychosis, you're probably gonna have a bad time.

You may encounter looters, homeless folks, addicts, and/or mentally ill/disabled folks. Try to avoid confrontation. Let them be. If they're alive and unharmed, leave them alone. If they're injured or ODing, attempt first aid (narcan, tourniquets, compresses, etc.) and call an ambulance. No pigs, just medical help.

Watch out for animals. Don't pet them. Don't hurt them. Leave them alone. Also watch out for snakes, esp in buildings with a lot of concrete or gravel.

Don't wear iconic or identifying clothing. Don't worry about looking nice. Don't wear shit you like because it WILL get torn, stained, and trashed.

Just… never assume you're alone.

Feel free to reblog with other tips.

[anonymous-dentist]

Little fic inspired by this post by @quackityinc (hiiii delilah)

-

Quackity doesn't remember when he started kidnapping Karl Jacobs. He wishes he did so he could go back in time and tell his past self to, like, not fucking do that. Because not only has it turned... problematic for multiple reasons (relation to Heatwave, increasing popularity, personal interest, etc.), but also? Karl Jacobs is annoying. That, most of all, has really turned Quackity off of the whole kidnapping thing.

"Oh, you redecorated!" Karl exclaims.

Ten minutes, Quackity thinks. Karl Jacobs has been kidnapped for ten minutes, and he's already out of the trap Quackity stuck him in. He's out of the trap, and he's wandering around Quackity's super evil lair with a smile painted on his face like he literally isn't kidnapped. He is literally kidnapped. What is wrong with him?

Quackity, for his part, just lets it happen. He sits in his chair and he watches Karl wander around his lair like it's an art museum.

Arms crossed, and scowl firmly on his face, Quackity thinks, not for the first time, that maybe this has gotten a little out of control.

"I like it!" Karl declares. He looks at Quackity, eyes wide and eager and full of enough bullshit to drown a pig in. "It's nice! Modern, I like that in an evil lair."

"I'm glad," Quackity dryly responds. His voice changer pitched his voice down to Technoblade levels of deep.

"See, but there's one thing I would change-"

Quackity sighs and fights the urge to put a bullet through Karl's pretty little skull. Here it comes...

Karl paces along the balcony above Quackity, fingers trailing along the railing as he goes. He painted his nails again, Quackity absently notices. Pink. Nice.

"-I'm not sure if the carpet up here is good for, like, stains?" Karl says, and- yeah, okay, he's got a point, but the carpet wasn't Quackity's idea. "Like- okay, shut me down here if you want, but I know you like your bloodstains, and the carpet up here is too dark for that? I think?"

"I'm not exactly torturing people up there," Quackity says. "You know where I torture people."

"Ugh, yeah, I know, but I still think that you should think about putting something lighter in if you want the stains to pop."

"Who says I want the stains to pop?"

"Don't you villain guys have that uuuuh..." Karl trails off, deep in thought. His mouth turns down into a cute little frown that a weaker Quackity would want to kiss. "...the what's-it-called. Your OSHA."

Quackity nods. "Yeah, VOSHA."

The Villainous Organization for Safety, Health, and Absolute Degeneracy. Quackity is the vice president this year, much to his annoyance. Schlatt got the presidency yet again thanks to the vote rigging. Fucking asshole.

Karl snaps his fingers. "Yeah! That! Isn't their whole thing making sure your evil lairs are, like, evil? This doesn't look evil to me."

He scuffs the toe of his shoe along the carpet. Quackity is sure he's getting mud all over it, but he doesn't really care. Again, the carpet wasn't his idea. Blame Foolish. He wanted something nice.

"I'm not getting rid of the carpet," Quackity says.

"I'm not saying you have to!" Karl objects. "I'm just saying that you've got some design flaws up here. Just saying."

In one swift motion, Karl braces himself against the railing with one hand and hops it, settling upside-down from the topmost bar. Quackity wishes he'd fall and crack his skull open, but he knows he won't, and he knows that him wishing that he would is just a desperate attempt at not caring about someone he cares entirely too much about.

"Thanks for putting the railings in, by the way," Karl says. He doesn't seem at all bothered by the fact that he's freely dangling by his feet twenty feet above a hard concrete floor. "Makes it way easier to hang, you know?"

Quackity has seen Karl's shows. He was in the audience of last week's, front row. He even got to be part of it as an audience volunteer, and he got a bouquet of plastic flowers from Karl's sleeve for his trouble. Those flowers are in a vase in his bedroom back home right next to the program.

"Yeah, no, I totally get it," Quackity says. He watches as Karl drops his arms down so they swing next to his head. "Sometimes you just gotta hang, yeah, I get it."

"You know, you're a nice guy," Karl says. He looks at Quackity like he can see through the mask. "Sometimes I wonder what you look like under there."

Absently, Quackity raises a gloved hand to press his mask closer to his face. "Nothing special. Don't worry about it."

Karl smirks at that, eyes narrowing slightly. "Somehow, I doubt that."

And, of course, that's when Heatwave chooses to enter via the window, crashing through without a care in the world.

Quackity groans. He can't afford this...

"Karl!" Heatwave shouts. He looks frantically around the room before seeing Karl hanging from the railing. At that, he looking faintly alarmed, and very amused. At least he and Quackity can agree on that. "Karl, oh my God, there you are!"

Karl smiles and waves. "Hey, baby! Me and V were just hanging out."

He giggles at the pun. Quackity wants to slit his throat. Quackity wants to kiss him. This is a problem.

Heatwave turns on his heel to glare at Quackity, who stares impassively back from behind his mask.

"Vulture," Heatwave says, voice pleasant but laced with disgust. "will you please stop kidnapping my boyfriend?"

Very few know that famed hero Heatwave has a partner. Very many people know that famed magician Karl Jacobs has a partner. He shows his boyfriend, one Sapnap Halo, off every time he does an Instagram livestream. Quackity is one of only two people on the planet that knows that Heatwave and Sapnap Halo are one in the same. This is also a problem.

"Nah," Quackity says. He glances up at Karl with a soft smile. "I'm good."

[solesommerso]

☆-September Project 30-☆

day 30~ dead

∘ ༺ ☆༻ ∘

jim street x chris alonso

angst, hurt/comfort

read on ao3 here

a/n: guys we don’t need to get into the logic of this fic or how it’d never actually happen or whatever, I don’t care, just take it and be happy (also me posting stris twice in a month?? what’s happening???)

warnings: swearing, graphic depictions of violence, kidnapping, torture, character thought of to be dead (not actually dead), guns, knives, blood & gore

~

"Just tell us where the money is and you'll be let go." Davis taunts as he drags his bloodied knife along the side of Streets face. Street just clench's his jaw and stares straight ahead.

His feet are bound with rope and wrists behind his back with zip ties. His gun and vest have been stripped off his uniform long ago, at least three hours based off the clock on the wall.

The room is huge and probably some type of warehouse that's abandoned. There's nothing in here but a few tables in the corner and the men walking around with large guns held tightly to their sides, they circle Street and Davis like sharks. Waiting. Probably for Street to try and get away or attack but even Street knows he can't take down eight gunned men and Davis all by himself.

"Just tell me where you put the money!" Streets jaw is gripped in Davis's fat fingers with a squeeze on his bone.

The money that Davis so desperately wants isn't even somewhere he could get it. It's already at Swat HQ. It has been for the past two days but apparently Davis still thinks it's somewhere in one of the victims houses.

This whole thing started with two family's getting murdered, all shot point blank range, all dead within minutes of each other, dragged into their pools and left while the house got overturned looking for money. Both family's were wealthy and knew each other so there's a connection but Streets still yet to figure out what Davis needs the money for.

It's only ten million and while that's obviously a lot of money, there's people who have more to take. Maybe it's because the second family had ten million in cash for no apparent reason sitting under their mattress in the master bedroom, which is weird, there's many questions that arise form that, the main one being what the hell are you people doing with that much cash when you're real estate agents?

Not to mention how the hell Davis even became aware of this cash? He definitely doesn't know the people as he was living in a shitty one bedroom apartment with barely a thousand dollars for rent each month. And where did Davis get all these people? Has he promised them the money? Why are they so willing to risk themselves for him? The eight men aren't even the only people Davis has working for him, there's at least three other that Street knows of.

"Tell me!" The back of Davis's hand is slapped hard against Streets cheek as he spits some blood onto the concrete floor in response.

Streets already been tortured for hours now and he's honestly just tired of it. It all goes back to when Davis and two of his 'muscle men' as Street likes to refer to them, they slammed him pretty hard on the back of the head with a shovel, it had actually caused his helmet to fall right off before they hit him again, while that didn't knock Street out, the hits following definitely did and then he woke up here. His body is bruised to a gross point and ribs aching from the baseball bat Davis has swung into his side around ten too many times.

Streets head throbs as he stares up to Davis, he looks annoyed, kind of like a pig when Street really looks at his stupid nose scrunch, Street would laugh at this if it wouldn't cause immense pain. He's really hoping the team figure out where the hell he is soon. Luca was supposed to be right behind him but got caught up fighting with another suspect so Street was all on his own as he walked through the third victims house.

Street knows practically nothing about the third victims, he was maybe five feet into the raid when a shovel was thrown into his head so he's giving himself a pass. The team will know about the third victims for him.

They didn't even think there was going to be a third victim but, of course, Davis had to prove them wrong. The asshole. Twenty squad was pretty sure he was going to hit up different places the other two victims worked at, the unfinished property's and stuff, places with no people but then Hicks was screaming to roll out because the crew was spotted breaking into a house. Looks like all those patrol men are wasting their time sitting on each property.

"Damnit speak! You fucking cop, speak to me!" Streets said zero words this whole time and that's obviously struck up a nerve on Davis's part. Street rolls his shoulders back just trying to get some of this aching to stop. Seriously they could ease up on the bat and knife usage.

He has a few cuts around his stomach and arms, nothing that even needs stitches, just an annoying amount of hot searing pain. Then the metal bat Davis seems to love has been swung into almost every part of Streets body, including his face that he knows is bruised up pretty badly.

"Where is the money! I swear to god I will kill you if you don't answer me!" Davis has Streets t shirt clutched into a ball so he can drag Street halfway off the ground and make their faces almost touch.

"What money?" Streets voice is gruff but he manages a small smirk as Davis's eyes go wide and he drops Street down to his knees again. Street knows that was probably a stupid decision on his part but hey, he's just done at this point, even if he did tell Davis where the money was, it wouldn't matter, he wouldn't be able to get it.

"You are lucky I don't put a bullet through your fucking skull!" The cold tip of a glock is pressed to Streets forehead as he stares up around the gun to Davis. He's not too scared, he knows Davis is only going to kill him once he's served his purpose. And let's face it, Street knows this is his death bed, while it's not ideal, it's something he has to deal with.

"If killing you didn't mean I have to go get one of your little friends, I would skin your alive." Davis snaps and Street just blinks. He almost feels like he's in an action movie as he listens to this very villain sounding story Davis is going off about.

~

Streets pretty sure the fact that it's hitting the six hour mark is a sign that he has to get himself out of here. He was really betting on someone from the team busting through the door but that doesn't seem to be that probable at this point.

And shit, now he has to get out of here without getting himself shot or just falling over from the sheer amount of bruises he has. Davis has left and come back a few times, adding new injuries to Street each time he returns, asking the same questions that Street won't answer, and Davis is getting more and more angry with the situation.

"So officer, I have a little surprise for you." Street is instantly on high alert at the grin spread across Davis's face. He’s yet to look anything but enraged.

"We got your little girlfriend." Girlfriend? He's not dating anyone? He hasn't dated anyone since Molly but that was almost a year ago.

"What's her name? Ah yes, Alonso." Streets stomach drops. Not Chris, anyone but Chris.

"Miss Cristina Alonso. Works Swat with you, you guys get pizza on Friday's, you've ridden to work together, quite a lovely little relationship you have going on Jim." How the fuck does he know all that? That's not even relevant to anything Davis should be worried about.

"So what we're gonna do since you won't talk is play some games with your girlfriend while you answer my questions, sound good?" Street could throw up if he wanted.

"Say hello Chris." There's a flip phone held up by Streets face as he hears a muffle hum of words he can only assume is Chris with something blocking her mouth.

"Every time you lie, they fire a shot at your precious girl, the gun isn't fully loaded but there are bullets in there so don't be dumb." Davis places the phone flat out in his palm as he crouch's down to Street level and clears his throat.

"Number one, where is the money?" Street feels his chin tremble.

"I don't know." A blank sound of a gun clicking on the other side of the phone makes tears well up in Streets eyes.

"I'll ask again, where is the money?" Davis is growing more angry as he narrows his eyes at Street.

"I don't know where they put it." Another shot but again not real bullet, Streets heart rate is picking up as his hands shake behind him. He needs Chris to be alright, he won't be able to live with himself if something was to happen to her.

"I know you know, tell me where it is!" Davis spits the words out to Streets face. Streets head shakes back and forth. The money is locked away, the only person with the key is Hicks or Hondo and he's not even sure they still have it.

"Last chance Street, tell me." Davis takes his free hand to hold Streets hair and tilt's his head down to stare at the phone. Tears slowly spread over Streets cheeks as he looks at it knowing Chris is being hurt on the other line.

"It's locked away, you won't be able to get it." Davis shakes his head.

"Where is it locked up?" Street genuinely doesn't know this part, he just knows it's in Swat HQ somewhere.

"I don't know, I swear I don't know-!" A shot rings out over the call, a bullet in this one, he can hear the thud of Chris's body hit the ground and a sob erupts out of Streets throat.

"Chris! No! No! Chris!" Davis let's Streets body drop down into a ball as he lets out high pitch noises of pain and curls into himself. Streets head bows forward into his chest with the tears flooding down his cheeks and into the cuts across his face.

They sting when the salt hits the gashes but Street can't even get himself to breathe in a proper breath. Chris is dead. She's gone, she's never coming back and- and his fault! Street let's out a scream he's been stifling since he woke up tied down and it echos in the large building.

~

"Jesus Christ man, what'd he say to you?" One of the muscle men asks once Davis walks away with a smile, leaving Street curled into himself with sobs.

"H-he killed her- he killed her and it's all my fault-." The man's eyes go wide at Streets blubbering words.

"Shit- uh- well I mean, you'll be dead soon too." The guy winces a bit before walking away.

Great. Now Street really knows he's gonna die, fucking hell. Does he even care? Chris is gone. She is- was- the love of his life wether or not she knew it. He'd give up everything for her, he was about to, if she was to ask him to quit swat so they could be together, he wouldn't have hesitated.

Maybe that's a little crazy to quit your dream job just to be with a girl but Chris is more than just a girl to Street. She is and always will be more than that, she's everything to him, hell he wouldn't have even still been in Swat if it wasn't for her and her drivenness. Anything she ever did had Street in complete Awe, every little quirk, any time she even just smiled at him- it felt like Cupid was shoving arrow after fucking arrow down his throat.

Though Street never really had the guts to actually do anything about it after that kiss in the backyard with alcohol lacing across their lips, he just allowed Chris to make the call that it was too complicated. But then she kissed him in the locker room and it was like everything in his world stopped spinning because Chris kissed him. Streets pretty sure he's never been so in love with someone, no matter how many times he tries not to be.

That kiss in the locker room only lead to a bunch of weird energy and never really figuring things out but Street still holds onto it. He knows it might be stupid that one kiss means so much to him but there's nothing he can do to make his brain let go of it, it clings to that moment like a life line, praying they'll figure something out soon- or- that they would've figured something out.

Street guesses it's his time to try and get rid of that dream considering he failed Chris on all fronts. Couldn't be her boyfriend, couldn't be her best friend, couldn't be her teammate- couldn't even save her life when she needed him to. So maybe it is time to try and move on from the dream of him and Chris being together.

He should really be focusing on getting out of here first. Streets eyes scan around the room and take note that instead of eight men, there's only six remaining, most of them stopped circling around to instead talk by the door across the room.

Is it still extremely risky to try and get out of here with six people waiting to kill him? Yeah.

Does he have another option? Nope.

It's not hard to break the zip ties behind his back, he honestly could've done that hours ago but that would've caused some issues. Next is reaching down to un tie the ropes around his ankles that are tied pretty tight.

"What are you doing?" Street shoves his hands back to where they were with the zip ties as he looks up to a black haired man.

"I have to pee." The guy rolls his eyes.

"Then piss yourself, you ain't getting out of here." Hm that's what he thinks.

"Seriously? Fine. Might wanna stand a few more feet away." The guy has a brief face of disgust before backing up a few steps and turning his back to Street. Everyone else is still over by the door so now's really the only chance Street has.

He gets the ropes undone after a moment and stands quickly, maybe a little too quickly as he goes light headed but pauses with an inhale for balance. Okay now he has to move.

"Don't move." His hand is clasped over the guys face as he whispers in his ear while tugging the gun strap off. He prays to god this works how he wants it to.

Thankfully the black haired guy puts up zero fight and just lets Street take the gun then get him down to his knees. Street takes no time to get the rope wrapped around the man's wrists while glancing over at the group of five people that have yet to notice anything.

"Let me go and I won't shoot." Street barks out once he can point the AR-15 pointed at the group of men. They all turn to him with a raised brow but make no move to actually grab their own guns.

"Just let me walk out of that door and nobody gets hurt." Street's probably not nearly as intimidating as he wants to be since his face is bloodied and shirt ripped apart to show the slice marks he has littered around. Not to mention the slight sway in his feet from the no doubt concussion he has.

"You just gonna walk out the door?" One of the blonde men looks very unimpressed.

"I just wanna get out of here, I have nothing to give you." Although he would appreciate his gun and vest back from wherever they stashed it.

"Yeah we kinda got that covered as it's been seven hours. Y'know for Swat you look a bit pathetic holding that gun." Okay ouch, that kinda hurt.

"You already killed the one person I care about so just let me go and plan her damn funeral." Street swallows back the spit in the back of his throat, the taste of copper reminding him just how bruised up he is.

"Good luck finding her body." He shoots the blonde man's foot. Street kind of expected that it would set the others off to shoot him but they're just staring in horror as the man falls to the ground screaming.

"Let me go." He sighs pointing the gun back at the man on the floor. There's tears streaming down his face as he holds the hole in his foot.

"You shot me! You fucking shot me!" He gaps like Street doesn't fucking know that.

"You deserved it, now let me go!" He just needs to make it back to HQ where he can collapse in the locker room and probably sob over the sweater Chris has in his locker from that one day she forgot to take it back from him.

"Alright alright, just don't shoot any of us." The black haired man from before opens the door and Street breathes the biggest sigh of relief but it gets cut short as-

-Davis walks in. Mother fucker! He really thought he'd be getting out of here.

"What the hells going on?!" Street fires two shots into each of Davis's shoulders before he can reach for the glock on his hip. Two of the men that walked in with Davis go to fire but they catch bullets to the chest.

"Fucking shoot him don't just stand there!" The guy with the foot wound yells to the other five that are still just standing there.

"Hey, you don't gotta shoot me, just let me go. I bet you won't even be paid for this job since you still haven't found the money and Davis is gonna die and-." Street stops his ramble when the black haired guy just opens the door again.

"Give me the gun and get out of here." Street can't comply faster as he runs as fast as he can, which isn’t that fast, out of that building and to the road it's on.

~

Looking around Streets pretty sure he knows where he is, scratch that, he is absolutely sure he knows where he is, he's maybe a ten minute walk from HQ! This is some bullshit. That's basically all Street thinks as he trudges his way up the road and tries not to wince with every step that sends shocking pain through his body.

"Street?!" Hondo and Luca are right there when Street stumbles his way into the briefing room at HQ. Maybe he should've tried to call for help or even an ambulance but all he can think about is that sweater in his locker.

"Christ kid?! Where the fuck have you been?!" Deacon and Tan appear quickly as Luca holds Street more upright.

"I'm sorry- I'm so sorry- guys I'm sorry- I'm sorry-." They all look shocked to see the tears running down Streets face as Hondo shakes his head.

"What are you sorry about? You didn't do anything, you made it out of there." Street pushes out of the hand Hondo puts on his shoulder.

"It's my fault- I'm sorry- I should've just said something- it's my fault-." How can they not know Chris dying is all on him? He should've fucking lied or done something to make them stop.

"What's your fault? What happened? Street talk to us." Do they not know Chris is dead? Oh god have they not figured it out. Street breath hitches as he leans into Lucas side with a cry.

"Chris- she- Chris-." He tries to explain but they all furrow their brows and-

- and Chris is appearing in front of him.

"What about me?" Street basically collapses as he reaches his arms out to her and sobs. He's not even sure if this is real or just some hallucination his concussion is causing but he's going to hold onto it for as long as he can.

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I failed you, I'm sorry, oh god Chris, Chris I'm so sorry, it's all my fault." His head is stuffed into the crook of Chris's neck as he clings on for dear life, her hand holds the back of his head carefully.

"Street, Shh, its okay, I'm right here. I'm okay." She assures but Street shakes his head against her.

"You're not- you're not okay. Chris I'm such a horrible person, how could I let them do that to you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-." Streets face is pulled back to be held gently in Chris's hands as she looks at him with confusion and concern mixed together that have her brows knitted tightly together.

"Street I am right here, I am okay, we're both okay." He's shaking as he reaches his hands to hold her wrists and she keeps her hands cupping Streets face.

"You're not, I heard it- you're not okay Chris- please, I'm sorry." The tears are heavy against Streets face as they drip down enough to fall onto what's left of his shirt.

"Heard what? What happened?" Street gasps a moment but Chris keeps holding him steady.

"I heard it- I heard him shoot you- you're dead! Chris you aren't real- I heard you die and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I should've tried harder to save you." Chris's face is one of pure horror as she drops her hands and Street lets out a strangled noise form the back of his throat.

"Don't leave yet- please- just give me five more minutes- please just let me have five more minutes, I can't let you go yet." Street cries high pitched when Chris takes a step away but his hands are tugging her shoulders into him again.

"Just five minutes- I don't want you to go, I can't let you go yet- just hold on for five more minutes." Chris's arms wrap around Streets back tightly as he sags into her.

"Street I'm okay, I'm alive, I didn't get shot." Chris says into Streets gross hair that has blood and sweat coating it.

"I heard it Chris, I heard you hit the ground." He shakes the words out but Chris is pulling away again with her eyes teary when Street looks into them.

"It wasn't me, I'm okay. Street I'm perfectly okay and alive, look at me, I'm okay." She takes Streets shaking hand to press it over her chest where he can feel the bumping of her heart beat.

"Feel that? I'm okay. Street please, I'm okay." Streets brain really isn't comprehending this all too quickly as he stares at her a moment. She looks so real and so healthy. She looks normal, he's not sure if he was hallucinating he would get such a clear view of her.

"But- but you died and I- I couldn't save you." Chris shakes her head firmly.

"I didn't, it was somebody else, it wasn't real. You got out of wherever you were and that's all that matters because we are both okay." She states it with a caring tone and her hands holding Streets shoulders, making his weight balance out as his legs aren’t nearly steady enough to hold himself up, but also to try and ground him.

"The- the warehouse down the road- I was at the warehouse." Street can hear shuffling behind him but he's just focused on having Chris standing in front of him. Alive.

"We thought you were a few towns over, I don't know how we missed the mark so bad." Chris gives half a smile.

"Please- please don't leave. I know you're okay but I just really need you close right now and I'm in a lot of pain and you always know how to fix things and- and- I love you. I love you and I need you somewhere safe where I can see you." Chris and Street keep their eyes on each other's as Street talks in almost a frantic tone.

"I love you too, I'm not going anywhere. I promise I'm not going anywhere." Chris assures, pulling him in close again and holding on for just five more minutes.

[heygerald]

HEART MECHANICS - PART 3/9

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x oc

Matty learns a thing or two about Maverick and his long-winding history with Rooster, and suddenly her rule to stay away from pilots doesn't seem so concrete. Maybe being nice to the new kid wasn't as hard as she thought it would be. Especially not when he offers to buy her a drink in exchange for her help.

Read it here: part 1 / part 2 / ...  / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8  / part 9

Matty was starting to see a pattern here; a pattern that she didn’t quite like to admit, but that the evidence was pretty fucking damning to prove because as she finally pulled into the hangar parking lot, she seemed to be one of the last people to show up.

Which meant that she was late.

Again.

And—god—did that really fucking annoy her.

Not just because it meant that she was always rushing from one place to the next, and not just because she was also the last person to leave at night meaning that she absolutely did put in her time, but because it meant that if she noticed it...

So did the others.

The others who were so goddamn annoying sometimes.

“Damn, Matty,” one of those others in question shouted across the parking lot. She peered through her windshield to find George grinning at her from the next row over. Even with his sands cupped around his mouth, she could still see the too-white glimmer of his teeth. “Late again?”

“By, like, five minutes.”

“I think this is officially a new record!”

“Shove it up your ass, George.”

He laughed.

Threw his head back and laughed, before striding across the parking lot with a whistle as he went. Some of the other Airmen though, the ones that didn’t have the privilege of working with her (because it was a goddamn privilege to work with Matty Neven) gaped as he strode past. Their beady little eyes swiveling on a nimble axis between George’s sunny demeanor and Matty’s decidedly less-so disposition; most likely trying to figure out how he could laugh at something when she seemed so utterly barbaric in response.

Ugh.

People needed to mind their business, she thought while climbing out of her jeep. And, actually, when a few Airmen from Bravo Company’s motor pool glanced between the pair curiously, she didn’t just think it.

“What?” she snapped. “Do I have something on my face or have you never seen a woman outside of a porno before?”

The taller one blanched. The shorter one shoved his friend on his shoulder before they were scurrying off, metaphorical tail between their legs.

Someone nearby barked out a laugh, and Matty turned to find a trio of pilots s at standing at back of her jeep. They were all sweating, red-faced, wearing the ugliest PT uniforms that she had ever seen which Top Gun was known for. Still, despite the early hour and their sore muscles, the group had varying looks of amusement spread between them.

“What?” she barked again. She never liked to be on the outside of a joke.

Somehow though, her reaction only further incited the group to laugh—giggle, really—and Matty was just about to tell them to eat shit when the woman managed to find her tongue. She was dark-haired and bright-eyed, and as she wiped some sweat off of her forehead, Matty realized she recognized her from The Hard Deck from their meeting several nights prior.

The liquor had made most of the memories from Eggy’s birthday party blurry, but those eyes and that smile were particularly difficult to forget.

“Just enjoying the conversation,” she said. Smiled. Wiggled her brows. “Tell me, did Bravo Company have it coming or...?”

Matty made a noise halfway between a grunt and a snort; not enough coffee in her system for conversation, she figured. “Something like that.”

“And the other guy?”

“Who?” she asked, scrunching together her eyebrows before she remembered her less-than-friendly interaction with George not even minutes earlier. “Oh, him? That’s George.”

“Enemies?”

She snorted again. This time, it actually sounded more like a noise a woman would make and less like mating pigs. “Only when he pisses me off. Other than that, he’s not so bad.”

The group glanced at each other before laughing once more. Matty minded, though not as much as the first time as her nerves seemed to settle down a little bit, and she tried to stretch some of the sleepiness from her shoulders as they chattered with one another.

It wasn’t until the woman spoke again that Matty even realized they were still there, staring at her, acting as if this was a real conversation and not just a passing exchange of words.

“You’re not much of a morning person, are you?” she asked.

The man beside her—Glasses, yup, she sorta remembered him too—winced a bit at the abrupt question, but he didn’t pipe up about it. She figured he was just too shy to say something.

Or maybe he just agreed with the woman’s observation.

“I like mornings just fine,” Matty deadpanned, only slightly self-conscious, though trying not to be as she grabbed her bag from the back seat. It was filled with nothing but some spare workout clothes and a pack of energy bars to replace the ones she had stolen from Nick last week, but it still felt unusually heavy on her tired shoulders. “Just not when I have to go into work surrounded by assholes.”

“I take it you’re including us in the proverbial asshole,” the woman snorted.

“Yes,” came her lightning quick response. Then, for some reason that Matty wouldn’t ever sit around considering, she hedged, “no... I don’t know? Ugh, whatever. It’s a little early for the philosophical questions, alright. Should I?”

“Should you what?”

“Consider you assholes?”

The woman’s mouth quirked up at the sides in amusement. Glasses laughed—or choked, she didn’t quite know—but covered the sound with a wince and a cough. The third, a dark-skinned man that she didn’t recognize, actually had the audacity to cross his arms over his chest with a sour look cast in her direction.

“Man, you really don’t like pilots, do you?”

“I—who told you that?” Matty asked. It was a fair question, fair assumption really, but... still. Hearing it put so bluntly made her feel kinda bad.

Not a whole lot bad, mind you, but a little.

“Rumors at the bar,” the woman replied easily. Then added, “but, the evidence isn’t so contrary. Heard that you told Rooster to fuck off last night.”

“Would you feel better if I also told you to fuck off?” Matty groused, locking her jeep, before slinging her keys into her pocket. Her thermos was already empty as she had chugged the entire cup of coffee on her drive in, and she stared at the dark bottom of the cup with something akin to depression weighing her shoulders down. “Because, you know, it’s still pretty fucking early and I haven’t hit my quota for the day so...”

Frank was probably right. She really should see someone about caffeine addiction. But, whatever, at least she wasn’t addicted to cocaine.

That was a hobby she couldn’t afford right now.

“Is there something that I’m missing here?” the dark skinned man asked. He glanced at everyone, but mostly Matty, before nudging the woman pilot in the ribs with his elbow. “Who is this? And, uh, why are we letting her call us assholes?”

“Okay, firstly,” Matty flung a finger up. It was still stained with grease and wrapped in tape from when Maverick had caused her to bang it up last week, but the digit did as told. “I’m Matty Neven, don’t forget it. And secondly, you’re not letting me do anything. I do what I want. Including call people assholes. It’s, like, my right as an American and all that shit.”

He scoffed in disbelief. “Calling us assholes?”

“Uh, yeah, pretty much,” she deadpanned. “Freedom of speech beneath the flag and all that. Isn’t that just the American dream?”

The woman pilot laughed once again, appearing to be delighted in the banter that Matty was providing them—not a reaction that she had expected. Pilots typically hated when she called them assholes.

Wait. Most people hated when she called them assholes.

Matty frowned.

Holy shit, maybe she was the asshole in these scenarios and—nope. That wasn’t something she was going to think about right now. Not only did she need coffee before drowning in her weekly existential crises, but she was also late for work, had a shit ton to do, and...

Well, you know, didn’t necessarily feel like becoming a better person before she hit her thirties. Seemed like too much effort too early in life.

“Whatever,” she waved a hand flippantly around in the air, trying to negate that line of thinking before the others could catch on. Still, they must have caught onto something because they were all fixing her with odd looks. So odd that Matty actually threw her hands up into the air with a scoff. “I don’t know! What do you want from me?”

“An apology would be nice,” the dark skinned pilot said.

Matty rolled her eyes and crossed one arm over the other. “Alright, let’s not get crazy with our wishes or anything.”

The woman threw her head back in laughter, nudging her friend in the ribs, before fixing Matty with, what she could only assume, was an appraising look. “You’re pretty funny, you know. For a mechanic. How come everyone on base told us to stay away from you?”

“You saw her drive here, right?” Glasses mumbled under his breath.

Matty heard it and shot him a dour look in response. After he gave her a sheepish smile in return, though, she did snag a glance at her parking job; winced, when she realized that she wasn’t even close to being inside the lines.

Rolling her eyes, she tried to get back on track.

Was there even a track to begin with?

“So, what, I’m not much of a morning person after all,” the hand went waving in the air once more, “yada, yada, yada. There’s just a bunch of rumors on base ever since I kneed Kenningson in the balls. Him and his little friends scattered after that.”

Glasses paled. “Uh... why?”

“Oh, relax,” she told him. “He deserved it. So long as you don’t play grab ass with me, you’ll be fine. But, yeah, everyone started to steer clear after that incident. Well, pilots, mostly. That’s a whole different issue.”

“Issue being...?” the woman inquired.

Matty waved her off. “It’s really too early for this and I’m really late to work. If I promise not to knee you in the balls, will you promise not to gang up on me in the parking lot tomorrow?”

“Scared?” the dark skinned man quipped.

“Of having another official reprimanding, sure,” Matty shot back. His eyebrows curled all the way to his hairline at that, and she smiled in response. The woman pilot just laughed once more though. Matty liked her. “Who are you guys, anyways? I already met the bird.”

“One bird, anyways,” she said. Then grinned. “I’m Phoenix. This is Bob, and this is Payback. We’re just here for the next two weeks.”

“So I’ve heard,” Matty sighed, before fixing Glasses—Bob—with a look. “You’re call sign is actually Bob? What’s that stand for? Bottom of the barrel?”

Payback snorted into his water bottle so hard he choked. Phoenix smacked him on the back while Bob went red to the tips of his ears.

Matty, confused, just glanced between the group. “What? What’d I say?”

“Nothing,” Payback shook his head, wiped some water off of his chin, and then asked her, “you don’t happen to spend time hanging around Hangman by any chance, do you?”

Matty made a face; not the good kind. “Who the fuck is that?”

Phoenix bit her lip while still patting Payback on the shoulder. When she finished, though, she seemed to be laughing at another inside joke that Matty wasn’t a part of. Not until she said, “he was the guy at the bar that you gave the finger to.”

Well... Ok. Not actually all that helpful.

Matty cocked a hip. “You’ll have to be a little more specific than that.”

“Wow,” Bob muttered, nudging his glasses a little higher up his face before saying, “are you sure you aren’t friends with Seresin? I think you two would get along great.”

“Drawing blanks here, guys.”

“The blonde,” Phoenix continued. Matty struggled to picture any faces at all—any faces that weren’t tan, cute, and oh-so-fuckable like... “Blue eyes. Winked at you from the bar next to Penny.”

So, not Rooster.

“Oh, him.”

“You give the finger to a lot of guys?” Phoenix asked, amusement piquing her voice over the sound of morning work starting. Down the tarmac, Matty could just make out the hangar opening up fully to let the morning air in, and beyond that she could make out the dark head of hair arriving on the back of a familiar motorcycle. “I suppose it is quicker than straight-up telling someone to fuck off.”

“The more I speak, the less liquor I swallow,” Matty shrugged. “So—Hangman. Did I hurt his feelings or something? Is that what this whole thing is about?”

“Or something,” Payback chirped. “He has a bit of a fragile ego.”

“That’s hardly my fault.”

“Nope, not your fault at all,” Phoenix smiled. Her gaze darted over towards the grassy field where the other half of their group must have just finished the morning workout, and when Matty followed her gaze, it was easy enough to pick out the gleaming head of gold amongst a sea of brown. “Actually, it kind of made my night. Not enough people can shut up Jake Seresin. So, no, that’s not at all what this is about. In fact, if you ever feel like putting him in his place again, you’d be doing us a favor.”

Matty harrumphed. “Send him my way, then. I’m more than happy to perform community service.”

Phoenix opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, someone was yelling at the trio from the grass.

“Are you guys coming? We’re gonna be late!”

Bob checked his watch, cursed, and then gave his friend the same look that George had given Matty. “We should go if we want to shower before lecture starts with Mav.”

Payback groaned. “Ugh. His lectures blow man, I just want to fly.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and everyone else,” Phoenix rolled her eyes. Matty’s gaze drifted curiously over to the larger group of pilots, though, and found it was just as easy to zero her sights in on Rooster as it had been for Hangman.

And—Christ. It really wasn’t fair how good he managed to look while sweaty.

“You give him the finger and I’m gonna have to fight you,” Phoenix interrupted her line of sinful thinking.

Matty turned to her, surprised. “You his lapdog or something?”

Unperturbed by the sudden attitude, the brunette just shrugged. Something twinkled in the back of her eyes, though, that Matty knew well enough; knew because it was the same look she got when someone messed with Frank, the same look he got when some sleazy guy hit on her. “Just friends.”

Odd how easy Matty understood that simple explanation.

“Sure,” she shrugged, snagging another glance at Rooster as he slung off his shirt to wipe his face. It was almost slow motion, and Matty had to physically pull her gaze off of him to return it to the others. “I get that.”

Bob and Payback nodded.

Phoenix, however, had a new look in her eyes as she gazed over Matty—head to toe, toe to head—and it made the mechanic nervous. Uncomfortable. As if she were being studied.

Frowning, Matty crossed one arm over the other. “Just tell your boys to stay out of my motor pool and we won’t have any problems, yeah?”

“Sure,” Phoenix echoed. “I get that.”

But as the three made her leave, as Rooster slung an arm over Phoenix’s shoulder and dragged her towards the barracks with a laugh and a curious glance in Matty’s direction, she had to wonder.

Wonder until the pair disappeared out of view, until her eyes burned from the sun, until—

“Are you having a fucking stroke out there, Matts, or did you finally just give up on life?”

Boomer.

She was going to fucking kill him one of these days. That much she didn’t have to wonder about; she just knew.

---

Matty liked a lot of things about being a soldier.

Mostly though, she liked the routine. Wake up, get dressed, go for a run, chug some coffee, eat some scrambled eggs with toast and a slice of turkey bacon, go to work, do the job, eat dinner, drink some beer, rinse, and repeat.

It was a nice concept: routine, routine, routine.

But, sometimes, routine was meant to be broken. Times where Matty had a lot going on or she was starting to fall into a rut or she just needed a moment of something different to really enjoy her life.

Different like having Maverick bust down her door at the crack of dawn just so he could drag her seventeen miles off base to a small, cozy diner that smelled like burnt coffee and sugar confections.

"You can stop glaring," he told her after the waitress had seated the pair in a plastic covered booth. They had a spot right next to the window, allowing a view of the shimmery shoreline, but most of the world was still asleep along with the waves, and there wasn't much to see other than the occasional seagull fighting over abandoned hotdog rolls. "You're gonna get your coffee. And I'm paying."

Matty didn't stop glaring. "It's six am."

"And?" Mav shrugged. She hadn't the slightest idea how he still managed to be chipper at a time like this. "You're a soldier, aren't you? I would have thought you would be used to this by now."

She grunted. Sorta. It kind of came out as a mewling moan that a dying cat might make, but it seemed to effectively get the point across.

He laughed with a shake of the head. "How aren't you a morning person by now? Rick was always the first up during school."

"Yeah, well, my dad and I obviously have different ideas about a fun morning," she grumbled.

However, when their waitress, a white-haired woman with a smile that didn't quite suit the time of morning, stopped by to fill her cup with black coffee, Matty started to feel a little bit less bitter when she got the first sip of her morning caffeine.

Mav quirked a brow at her. "Better?"

"Shut up," she told him, though, it was decidedly better now that she had a source of caffeine. "You could have just texted me, you know. Banging on my door at the crack of dawn wasn't exactly a gracious wake up call."

"You never respond to my texts," he shrugged.

"That's because you never text anything worth responding to," she simpered.

Neither argued what the other said because in a way they were both right. Matty was horrible about responding to texts; never really one that was on her phone in the first place, if people didn't call, she hardly ever got back to them. And Maverick was a pretty awful texter. He usually sent half-thought through messages that she couldn't make heads or tails of or he would send blurry photos that she hadn't a clue of what he was trying to show her.

Shrugging it off, she took another long sip of coffee, before asking, "what's the purpose of this, anyways?"

"The purpose?"

"Ah, come on, Mav," she rolled her eyes with a tut. Mav smiled at her theatrics, but he had the guilty look in his eyes that meant he knew exactly what she was getting at. "You've been here a week and have talked to me once."

"You're busy?"

"I'm always busy."

"I'm busy?" he tried.

She fixed him with a glare, pausing only long enough to give their waitress her breakfast order of waffles and bacon before turning back to him. "You texted me once while in Abu Dhabi. Being busy has never stopped you before."

"Well, I..." he trailed off.

She wondered if that was because he didn't know what to say or because he didn't know how to say it. Either way, she watched his gaze drift outside as he collected his thoughts; lips drawn into a frown that seemed so uncharacteristically severe on his face.

But then he said, "I saw Ice last night," and it was all really clear.

The morning wake-up call, the surprise visit, the tepidness and bashful smiles.

"Oh," was all she said.

Because, really, Matty didn't know what to say to that. Maverick had been out of town for a while, that much she knew, and she assumed that him and Ice had called each other over the years to stay in touch, but she hadn't quite considered the fact that Ice might have been keeping some secrets from Mav. Surprising in that way that they seemed like best friends who shared everything, but unsurprising in the way that she knew her godfather.

If there was something that Ice thought he could do on his own, he wasn't about to tell anyone until the last possible moment.

Mav peered at her with a sigh. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't really my place to tell," she said; only the tinniest bit defensive because deep down she knew that he didn't mean anything by it. Maybe, he was just trying to come to terms with everything and this was his way of doing it. "Plus... I don't know, I guess I didn't think about you."

He winced. She winced.

"Sorry," she said while clearing her throat, sipping her coffee. "I didn't mean it to sound like that."

If Mav took offense, he didn't let on. Just sighed so deeply that his shoulders sank nearly to the table, trying—but failing—to smile. "I know, I get it. Ice is... well, Ice. He's always done things his own way."

Matty gave a half-snort. "No wonder you two are best friends. I can't even imagine what you were like back in Top Gun together."

That seemed to lighten the mood a little. Enough, at least, for Mav to give her an actual smile rather than the grimace he had been giving before. Still, it fell a little flat at the end. "We weren't exactly friends during Top Gun. I thought your dad would have told you the stories by now."

"Oh, he did," she chirped, eyeing him behind her warm cup of coffee as she took another swallow, feeling a little bit more like herself with every sip. "Hollywood has told plenty of stories over the years. Still, seeing you all now makes it a little hard to believe that you didn't get along back then."

"I was kind of an ass back then."

"Kind of?" she teased. He laughed, shook his head, and sipped at his own coffee without meeting her gaze. Matty snickered at that. "He says everyone liked Goose, but they could never figure out why he always stuck up for you."

And, shit. That definitely wasn't the right thing to say.

Because the smile was wiped off of his face faster than he could fly a jet and suddenly Matty felt like an asshole for even mentioning the name. There were a lot of things her dad had told her over the years about his former pilot friends, but the biggest thing had always been the story of how traumatic Goose's death had been during school—and not just for Maverick, but for everyone who had to climb into the cockpit following the accident.

And here she was bringing it back up. Like an asshole.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No, it's okay," he cut her with the terse shake of the head. He was still staring out the window, and while she couldn't quite read his face, his voice was rough and uneven. Not exactly convincing. "Goose was a good friend; the best I could have ever asked for, actually. That's why he was always sticking up for me."

She licked her lips. "He sounds like a great person."

"Yeah," Mav sighed. "He was."

"I'm sorry," she said, again.

Mav blinked away from the window, turning to look at her, and her guilt must have been strung across her features because he actually managed a smile at her that she didn't find hard to believe. A toothy one, a bit heavy, but nice all the same.

"Ah, it's okay kid," he said while running a hand through his short hair. "I should be saying sorry for dragging you out of bed just to talk about all of this. I'm just a little rankled. Figured if I couldn't talk to Ice or Hollywood that I might get some advice from you."

"Advice?" she laughed. "What sort of advice can I give you?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. Then added with a thoughtful smile, "got any fortune cookies lying around? It doesn't exactly have to be the best advice."

Matty rolled her eyes. "Sorry, I'm all out. Does teaching really have you all hot and bothered? I thought that you've done this before."

"Ha, I did. And I barely lasted four months doing it," he told her with a sigh, but also with another, much more amused laugh. Their waitress popped by to refill their coffees and he took a long dreg of his while adding, "teaching isn't really in my bones. But, it's not just that. These kids are—"

"Idiots? Assholes? The worst of the worst?"

Maverick gave her a look. "You really need to get over your issue with pilots sometime, Mats. We're not all bad."

"Mhm. Sure."

"Besides, it's not that," he barreled on, deciding to leave that particular argument for another day. However, considering how many times her dad had argued the merits of pilots with her before without ever getting anywhere, Matty was pretty damn sure it would be a failed attempt in the future as well. "They're good pilots, good kids too. Well, most of them. Hangman is a bit of a—"

"Dick?"

He rolled his eyes, thought about it, then relented. "Yeah, alright, I'll give you that one. That kid is a bit of a dick."

"Sounds just like you," she pointed out with a toothy grin. "You ever heard of karma?"

Maverick waved her off, ignoring that thought entirely. "I just don't know how to handle everything with Rooster."

"Rooster?" she lifted a brow, much more curious now than she had been before. What issue could Maverick have with the good looking pilot from the bar? "What'd he do? He didn't hit on you too, did he?"

"No, he didn't—wait," Mav peered at her with an open mouth. "He hit on you?"

"Sure," she shrugged, finished off her coffee, and finally switched to drinking some water before she could dehydrate herself to the point of being sick. Frank would give her so much shit if she had to skip out on work again because she over-caffeinated. "Last week, at The Hard Deck. Actually, then again two days ago, when he stopped by the motorpool. Oh, thanks for that, by the way. As if I don't have enough shit to deal with as is."

She expected a witty comeback or some sly comment, but when she looked at Maverick, he was just staring at her with an odd expression on his face.

"Uh...what?"

"Mats, don't you know who that is?"

"Who Rooster? Bradley? Whatever. What's the deal?"

He shook his head in disbelief, half-laughing, half-groaning, and suddenly she felt like there was something big that she was missing.

"What?" she kicked him in the shins. "What am I missing?"

"That... that's Bradley Bradshaw. That's Goose's kid."

Oh. Shit. Yeah.

She was missing something big. Something huge, actually. Something so big that she didn't know how she could have missed it in the first place. Afterall, she had seen enough photos of the Bradshaw family growing up that she should have known, should have recognized him, but in the last couple of years Maverick had stopped talking about the family and she hadn't thought anything of it.

Not enough to ask, anyways.

"Oh," she said, again. Once more feeling like an ass who willingly put her boot into her mouth. "That's Goose's kid? Shit. I didn't..."

"Know?" He waved her off before she could start to feel even worse than she already had been feeling. "Yeah, I know. Definitely didn't think that he would end up at Top Gun or that I would be his instructor anytime soon. Maybe karma isn't completely bullshit."

She frowned, eyeing him in an entirely different light.

"So, I'm guessing from your expression that the two of you aren't exactly on the best of terms right now?"

Mav teetered his head back and forth to indicate that no, they were not on the best of terms right now. She winced. He sucked his lip between his teeth and said, "not... exactly."

"What'd you do?"

"What?" He jerked his head towards her, narrowing his eyes like a petulant child. "Why do you assume that I did something?"

She said nothing. Just gave him a look.

To which he deflated like a popped balloon. Around his cup of coffee, he mumbled, "it's complicated. But no, we're not on good terms. Let's just leave it at that."

Matty definitely did not want to leave it at that.

Not at all.

But there was something sad in Maverick's eyes and something worried in the turn of his mouth that prompted her to do so regardless of her curiosity. Afterall, he had brought her out to breakfast to talk. Probably not about everything traumatic in his life; if she had to guess, Mav just wanted a friend to talk about without having to deal with all the other stuff as well.

So, keeping that in mind, she did her best to pivot the conversation into happier territories. She could always ask him about it tomorrow.

"Well, I guess times really don't change all that much, huh?"

Maverick pinched his brows at her. "What do you mean?"

"You know," she shrugged with a half smile. "A Mitchell, Neven, and Bradshaw are all back in Fightertown together once again. Only difference is you're the teacher this time. Bet you never thought that would happen, did you?"

His features softened as he shook his head with a laugh. "Not exactly what I pictured way back then, no."

"Se la vie, eh?"

He rolled his eyes before asking, "does he know who you are?"

"As if," she scrunched up her nose. "I'm still pissed at him for hitting on me at the bar."

"It's not like he knew that you hate pilots," he said.

Matty stuck her nose up, declaring, "I don't hate pilots. I just don't date them. Or kiss them. And I definitely don't—"

"Dear god, kid, do not finish that sentence," he groaned while clapping his hands over his hears. She laughed in response, which had Maverick laughing too, but his cheeks were the tinniest bit pink when he told her, "I did watch you grow up, you know. This isn't the sort of thing I need to be hearing from you."

"Yeah, yeah, you're old, we get it," she rolled her eyes. "And you barely watched me grow up. We first met when I was, like, fifteen."

"I was out of the country a lot," he defended.

"Sure," she drawled, not at all believing that slap-stick of an excuse. "That's why you weren't around for the yearly reunions. It had nothing to do with the fact that you kept getting fired for doing stupid shit that Ice then had to bail you out from."

"Woah," Mav held up a single finger. "I have never been fired from anything. Just... you know, reassigned."

"Fired," she coughed into her hand. He kicked her in the shins this time, though it did nothing to wipe the smug grin off of her face.

He acted as if he hadn't heard her, barreling on. "And, for the record, despite what your dad or Ice might say, I don't do stupid shit either."

"Sure, Mav, sure."

"I'm a teacher now, kid. I only do responsible, safe things."

Matty laughed at how absolutely absurd that was. Maverick had to look away so that he didn't laugh too because, yeah, that was a whole load of horseshit and he knew it. They both knew it. And she would be surprised if everyone on this side of the coast didn't know it too. There wasn't a bone in Maverick's body that intended to play by the rules or do anything the safe way.

Which reminded her...

"Speaking of you being a dumb asshole," she touted, grinning at the way that he rolled his eyes at her but didn't bother argue, "a little birdy told me that you've been spending some time making heart eyes at Penny."

"A little birdy, huh?"

She shrugged. "A reliable source."

"So... Amelia."

Fuck. Yeah. Amelia.

"No," Matty kept on going, though Mav obviously didn't believe her. "Maybe. It doesn't matter. What's up with you two?"

"Nothing."

"You're a horrible liar."

"We're just old friends," he argued. "Penny made it clear that we aren't starting up again."

"Ah, so you did want to."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't not say that," she pointed out, provoking a groan from Maverick.

"Christ," he crossed one arm over the other. "You're just as nosy as Hollywood, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree and all that," she told him flippantly while waving her empty coffee cup around in the air. "So? Are you gonna ask her out on a date?"

"I'm not talking about my dating life with you, kid," he deadpanned.

Matty took that in stride. "Sure, sure. But you brought me out for breakfast to talk, so that means the options are either Ice, Bradshaw, or Penny. Your choice old man."

The look returned. The one that meant he was absolutely going to kick her ass the first chance he got, but not right now in this moment because it wouldn't be appropriate. And at that she grinned. Especially when he sighed because she knew that meant she had won. And he did too.

So, as their waitress brought out their food, Maverick explained what was going on with him and Penny. It took a while, too, considering how long and intertwined their history was. And the longer he talked, the more Matty laughed, and the less weight that seemed to sit on Maverick's shoulders.

And so, sure, Matty liked her routine.

But somedays a routine was meant to be broken, just like the sun was meant to be beat.

Who needed sleep when this was the alternative?

---

Matty thought about what Maverick said for the rest of the day. Thought about how Bradley wasn't just some nameless pilot hitting on her in a crowded bar but the Bradshaw legacy who she had been hearing about her entire childhood. She thought about how sad Maverick had been when he talked about their failed relationship, how anxious he was to figure out how to make it right, how distraught he was about Ice's diagnosis, and how much he was dealing with at the moment.

Even though her and Mav weren't exactly close growing up—he had been gone for most of her childhood, while Ice had been at every birthday party, graduation, and enlistment ceremony—but in the later years when he was stateside he had made an effort to keep in touch. And though they weren't the best of friends, he was still a family friend that her dad talked to often. And he was still someone she cared for.

Meaning when she saw how upset everything was making him, she wished that there was something she could do to help.

And while she couldn't train the pilots or cure disease, she could try to be a little bit nicer to Rooster.

Which meant swallowing her pride.

And... Fuck.

She really hated swallowing her pride.

“The fuck are you still doin’ here?” Boomer asked while scrubbing his hands clean of oil with a dirty rag. It didn’t help all that much, but he didn’t care all that much either. Just kept cleaning his hands as he stared down at Matty, towering over her in a heap of muscle and sweat as she worked on her last task of the day. “I though’ you woulda’ been gone by now.” 

“I wanted to finish this first.” 

He nodded. Then, as if not really understanding, asked, “why?”

Matty sighed. 

Nothing was ever easy when it came to Boomer. 

“I want to finish what’s on the docket for today before clocking out so I can get to Bradley’s jet in the morning.” 

“Ah,” he nodded again. Then, this time with more of a confused look, asked, “why?”

“Gee, Booms, is there an echo in here all of the sudden or something?” she rolled her eyes irritably while cranking the bolts as tight as she could. “He wanted me to get it done before the weekend, so this way I can at least finish it before they start exercises tomorrow.” 

Boomer stopped wiping his hands to cross one arm over the other, face split in half between incredulity and blatant disbelief. “And since when do you care about doin’ any favors for the flyboys? Though’ you would rather cut off your own arm than do them anything.” 

“Technically, it is our job, you know.” 

“Yeah, so is the rest of this shit,” he gestured to the motorpool around them; planes and helicopters sat abandoned left and right, leaving the entire garage to seem more chaotic than anything else. But the mechanics would argue that there was a system to the madness. Even if no one else understood it. “The docket is there for a reason. We get to it when we get to it.” 

“And I’m finishing this so I can get to it sooner,” she huffed. Boomer was one of her good friends from the base but fuck could he be a broken record sometimes. Especially when he caught a whiff of something that he could relentlessly tease her about—something like helping out a pilot who wanted a fucking tune up of all things. “Why do you care, anyways? The more work that I do means the less for you to finish before the weekend.” 

He considered that. Then shrugged. 

“Alright, alright, fair enough. Still,” he added, toeing her with his boot just hard enough that she had to swat his shin so that he didn’t knock her onto her ass. “Not like you to give a shit about any of these boys.” 

“Don’t get too excited, Booms. Sometimes it’s just easier to do it then give them grief.”

“Ha! Since when? What’s so special about this particular one?” 

“Calm down,” she glared. “He’s still a flyboy that hit on me. Not exactly friendship material.” 

“And yet you’re still stripping nuts for him,” Boomer grinned toothily. “You stripping anything else for him, Mats, or—ow!” 

Boomer hopped a foot back with a grimace, glaring at Matty for the hard smack to the leg she had given him with her favorite wrench. It would definitely bruise, but she hadn’t hit hard enough to break anything. 

This time, anyways. 

Knowing this, he rubbed his leg sorely with a sharp glare in her direction. “Shit, you’re a bitch sometimes, you know that?”

“Only when warranted.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” he rolled his eyes. Matty grinned at having effectively knocked his ego down a peg, and in return, Boomer muttered something under his breath that would definitely have earned him a broken nose if he had said it loud enough for her to hear. “Does this mean you’re not coming to dinner tonight?”

“What’s dinner tonight?”

“I’m grilling steak.” 

She scrunched up her nose. “No, Booms. In fact, even if I wasn’t busy finishing up your work, I wouldn’t be coming to dinner tonight.”

“Oi! I’m a good cook.” 

“Your steaks are always raw.” 

“Exactly,” he tutted, arms crossed tightly over his chest once more. This time, she wondered if she actually did manage to offend him. There was a lot of things that set the Aussie off; insulting his cooking skills was bound to be one of them. “Everything is burnt here in the states. Meat is supposed to be a little bloody. Where the hell is the flavor if it isn’t?”

And, as Boomer huffed and puffed a little bit, Matty realized that she had annoyed him into a bad mood. Which sucked because when Booms was in a bad mood, he was way less likely to do her a favor when she wanted one.

Sighing, she stood from her crouched position, and gave him a placating look. “Alright, fine. I’ll stop by when I finished this. Shouldn’t take longer than an hour. What beer do you want me to bring?”

He ground his jaw a little, before giving in. “Bring some Red Stripe.” 

“Red Stripe,” she nodded, just barely managing to hide her distaste for that particular type of beer. “Got it.”

“And some limes.”

“And some limes.” 

“And some chips.” 

Matty sighed. “Okay. I’ll grab some potato chips on my way over.” 

He nodded, seemingly pleased, and tossed his rag into the dirty pile in the corner before striding out. Matty thought that was that, but he paused in the door for a moment before glancing back at her. “Oi. Bring some ice, too, won’t ya?”

She rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with grease covered fingers. 

This is why she didn’t do favors for pilots. It also ended up costing her more. 

“Alright, Booms. I’ll bring some ice too,” she said in a defeated tone. He grinned upon hearing it, a toothy smile that seemed a little more troublesome than she liked to see from him because it meant that he was gonna do something stupid sooner or later. 

“You better not bring your flyboy with you,” he tossed over his shoulder. 

Matty gaped. Then she glared at his retreating figure, and shouted, “he’s not my flyboy!”

Boomer pretended not to hear her. Just whistled all the way to his truck before piling in and pulling out of the parking lot. She glared at that too, though it didn’t do much other than give her a headache. 

In response, Matty stepped back into the garage to glance over the mess that she had made with a wary eye. She hadn’t told Boomer this, but it would definitely take her longer than an hour to finish this repair, clean everything up, and then clean herself up enough to be presentable for a cookout. 

“This is why we have rules, Matty,” she mumbled to herself, cracking her neck before stooping back down beneath the machine. “Pilots just aren’t worth the trouble.” 

But, as she dove back into her work, she thought about Maverick and Iceman and Hollywood and even the stories she had heard about Goose.

Maybe some pilots were worth the trouble, she amended thoughtfully. But that sure as hell didn’t mean that she needed to add another one to the list. Especially not when he had a smile like Rooster did. 

---

An hour passed as Matty worked to the tune of her own wrench and some warbled music from one of the local radio stations. Her arms were sore, back too from always being bent over, but she didn’t mind the work. It was nice to have some time alone to get work done without other people pestering her about countless things; even nicer to be proud of fixing something that was worth millions of dollars seeing as how she would never have the pleasure of enjoying that sort of money in her lifetime. 

So, one hour went by. 

Then a second. 

Then some minutes passed by unnoticed by her, until the sun was finally beginning to set on the horizon with a smear of reddish-pink hues across the sky. A pretty sight that Matty might have noticed if she wasn’t so focused on the last few adjustments to Bradley’s jet because, ok—so maybe she had gotten a little ahead of herself, gotten a little drawn into the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of the empty motorpool, and maybe she had accidentally started working on it with the idea that she could finish the rest tomorrow. 

The problem?

Well, when Matty started something she couldn’t just walk away until it was finished. Something her dad was often proud of. Something that she often hated about herself because it put her in situations like this. 

Where her phone was ringing shrilly in the quiet motorpool, echoing above the radio and her whistling, until it was the only thing she could hear. So, she did what she always did, and pulled it out of her back pocket without looking. 

Then she was stuffing it between her shoulder and her ear, offering a friendly chirp of, “hello?” without much forethought.

And, fuck. 

She really hated herself sometimes. 

“Neven, I swear to god, where the fuck are you?” Frank’s boisterous voice boomed in her ear. She winced, quickly pulling the phone away before he shattered her eardrum, but even then she could still hear his grumbling across the line. “Boomer is shitting bricks. He said you were coming. Everybody is waiting on you to show up so that he’ll fuckin’ calm down.” 

“What? But I am coming!” she cried, hands thrown up, nuts and bolts clattering on the concrete floor when she accidentally dropped them. “I swear. I’m almost done.” 

“Almost done what? Walking paint dry?”

“It’s not that late,” she touted. “It’s only—”

Matty swung her head to glance at the clock—a blocky piece of scrap metal that had been hanging sideways on the wall since she had got stationed in Fightertown—and it took her a second to read it clearly.

“Oh,” she paused. Then she glanced out at the darkening sky. “Shit.” 

“Yeah, shit! We’ve been waiting for you for almost three hours now.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You were supposed to bring the chips and limes!” 

“I’m sorry! I just–I started something new and then got distracted and, well, you know how I get when I start something and I can’t—” 

“You’re fuckin’ dead, I swear. Why the hell did you start something new this late in the evening? Christ. Boomer is gonna kill you, Mats,” he groaned; she could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose from his spot on the sunken in couch on Boomer’s back porch almost as much as she could picture Boomer huffing and puffing over the fact that she was late to his cookout. “Like actually kill you this time. Strangling, probably. Bludgeoning maybe, depending on how drunk he is when you get here.”  

“But you won’t let him, right?”

Frank was silent for a moment before giving a slow, drawn out, “...right.” 

“Oh, great; well, that’s comforting,” Matty deadpanned. “A lot of help you are. Thanks for being my best friend and all that.” 

“Hey, you’re the one who decided to show up late even though you know how he gets about his cookouts. If you die doing stupid shit, that ain’t on me.” 

“I’m not–argh! I’m coming!” she groaned. 

Frank tutted into her ear, clearly not believing her, and that sent Matty scrambling around her workspace as she tried to clean everything up as quickly as she could without breaking any workplace violations. 

“You better bring a shit ton of beer when you do come,” Frank told her. She almost told him to piss off, but... well, bringing a shit ton of beer probably was the best thing she could do to make her tardiness up to Boomer. “And ice.” 

“I know, I know. And chips,” she grumbled while mentally calculating how fast she would have to drive to get everything on the list if she wanted to make it to Boomer’s place by sunset. “You think he’ll forgive me if I give him a kiss?”

Frank snorted. “You got a real ego, you know that, Neven? Your kisses ain’t worth shit.”

“As if you’d even know,” she snarked. 

“I’m seen you kiss enough boys at the bar,” Frank shot back. He sounded much more amused right now, and Matty wondered if that’s because he was going to enjoy watching her get her ass beaten or because he was several beers into the night already. “It’s disgusting. Too much saliva, you know. There is such a thing as being a sloppy kisser.” 

Matty paused, hands on her hips. “Um, never say that again.”

He snorted. 

“Just–ugh,” she paused once again, this time to pinch the bridge of her nose irritably. If she didn’t have the time to hang around the motorpool to properly store everything away, she definitely didn’t have the time to argue about her kissing skills with Frank of all people. “I hate you so much. Shut up, would you? I’m coming.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Frank hummed, and as Matty slammed the drawers shut to her workbench, she could hear him shouting at Nick and George. “—hey! You two idiots better not fuckin’ dent my car with those horseshoes. I swear to god I’ll kick your asses if you do!” 

She pictured the pair playing stupid, whining about how they would never do such a thing or touting their skills at the game in question; she loved them both, but really, when those boys were together they practically shared a single brain cell that didn’t work all that fast or well. She smiled at the thought. But then she pictured Boomer yelling at her, and realized that she should really be moving if she wanted to stay friends with him. 

“Ok, ok,” she huffed into the phone, almost finished cleaning everything up now. “I’m coming. I’ll be there in twenty, promise.” 

“You want to put money on that?”

“Wow. Refusing to keep Boomer from killing me and trying to rob me of my hard earned money. You’re a shit best friend, Frank.” 

“So... that’s a no?”

Matty rolled her eyes and hung up the phone; mentally, she put smacking the shit out of Frank on the top of her to-do list, right below making Boomer love her again. Even though he was her best friend, more often than not, Frank would provoke fights and talk shit just because... well, because he was a total dick. 

Still. 

She could lecture him about the merits of friendship later. Later like when she was at the cookout with everything Boomer asked her to bring in hand, decidedly not being strangled to death or bludgeoned by a broken tv remote. 

Locking everything up, Matty grabbed her bag, snagged her keys off the rack, and tore off towards the parking lot. The sky was a painting of pastel hues now, something that was both beautiful and anxiety inducing to see when she considered how much she had to do in a very short amount of time.

In fact, it was such a short amount of time that she didn’t even take a second glance at the bronco sitting in the parking spot beside her or at the man that was casually packing the back of it with some beer or the way that he stared at her over the low rims of his aviators as she threw everything she could into the back of her much dirtier, much older jeep. 

Didn’t even notice him until he leant an arm onto the back of his vehicle with a quirked brow and said, “someone’s in a hurry.” 

Matty screamed and almost threw her phone. 

Thankfully, she didn’t. Her phone was about one drop away from being beyond repair. Still, when she turned—hand clutching at her chest in surprise—she almost throttled it at Bradley when she took note of the amused smile curling his lips.

“Christ, Bradshaw,” she groused, “what the hell are you trying to do? Kill me?”

“Not exactly the plan, no,” he chirped. She calmed down a little, but didn’t particularly enjoy the amusement in his tone, and so Matty was quick to cross her arms tightly over her chest while giving him her best unamused face. And damn if it didn’t provoke his smile a little bit bigger. “I was standing here the whole time, you know. You’re the one freaking out over nothing.” 

“I didn’t freak out.” 

Over the top rim of his sunglasses, she watched his dark eyes flicker from her tight stance to her stern face. “Sure. Of course you didn’t.” 

Matty rolled her eyes, but did try to relax a little bit against her jeep. 

“What were you doing, anyways?” she asked. And, yeah, maybe her tone was a little bit defensive and borderline aggressive, but that was more because she could still feel her heart racing in her chest and less because of the way he smiled at her.

“On base or in the state?” he chirped a bit sarcastically, a bit friendly. 

Which... was a nice surprise, if she were being honest. 

The last two times they had talked she had effectively handing his ass back to him while instructing him to fuck off. But here he was acting as if that hadn’t happened, smiling at her as if they were friends, teasing her as if he didn’t actually hate her for kicking him out of her motorpool. Part of her wondered why he would even bother with her a third time; part of her knew not to ask questions that she didn’t want the answers to. 

So, Matty just rolled her eyes with a snort, and said, “on base. Don’t most the boys go out for drinks the second exercises are done with?”

He shrugged, scoffing with a distasteful curl of the lips. 

Matty wondered what could have happened to cause tension between him and the other pilots. Then she remembered that he was a pilot—tension and big egos were the only thing in the profession. 

“Some of them went to the Hard Deck,” he told her. Then, when she continued to stare, he shrugged once more and added, “I stuck behind to work out. Think I’m gonna go to the beach instead, maybe watch the sunset with some beer.” 

Matty almost laughed at how he spent his entire day practicing to be better, running through exercises, and never relaxing only to then actively spend more time working out as if it wasn’t his literal job to be in shape. But then that line of thinking turned a little too dangerous as she subconsciously glanced down at his broad chest, chiseled arms that were poking out of a silky Hawaiian shirt, and thick legs that were fitting snugly in his jeans, and she had to force herself to look away before she could do something stupid like blush. 

Clearing her throat, she asked, “not making friends with the other pilots, Bradshaw? I’m sure they’re heartbroken.” 

He rolled his eyes as well, but snorted all the same. “Yeah, something like that. I mean, you have met some of them, right?”

She curled a brow in amusement. “I actively avoid meeting pilots.” 

He sank back onto his heels as if he was only just remembering that little rule of hers, though she knew from the gleam of his eyes that he hadn’t forgotten their first meeting. “Ah, I almost forgot. Something about the egos?”

“Yeah, something like that,” she quoted him, smiling when he smiled. And damn if his smile didn’t look really fucking good on his face; the way it lit up his features and caught the afterglow of the sunset and seemed to really humanize someone that she had heard so much about lately but knew so little of. “Give it another week and let me know if you agree.” 

“Agree that pilots are the worst?”

“I didn’t say that,” she chided. But, then when she considered it, she realized she hadn’t not said it either. “I just...  you know, tend to keep my distance. Everyone does though.” 

“Everyone?”

“You know; mechanics and pilots. It’s sort of a thing.” 

He curled a brow. “Is it? I don’t think it is. I feel like you just made that up.” 

Matty rolled her eyes. They both knew what she was talking about. Although pilots and mechanics relied very heavily on one another for things to run smoothly, there was always a disconnect between the two pools of soldiers that typically left much to be desired. 

Bradley knew that just as much as she did and when Matty curled an expectant brow at him, he even relented. “Yeah, alright, whatever. Not all of us are that bad.” 

“Says the man who is going to drink on the beach alone rather than go with the other pilots to the bar.” 

“I–” he started, then paused. Matty knew she had him there and let a victorious smile crack across her features. When Bradley saw it, she watched his sheepishly scratch at the back of his neck, before glancing away at the sunset. “Point taken.” 

She harrumphed. 

He scoffed and settled back onto his heels; smiling the entire time, though. 

“Right, well, listen,” Bradley started. “I know how you feel about pilots and everything, but I’ve got plenty of beer if you want to—” 

Matty’s phone started ringing, cutting Bradley off from whatever he was about to say, and when she saw that Frank was calling her once again, she realized what she was meant to be doing at the moment. 

Ie breaking the speed limit while trying to find enough beer, limes, chips, and ice to make Boomer love her again.

“Shit!”

Bradley curled a brow at her. “Problem?”

“I’m so, so, so late that it’s not even funny anymore,” she told him while hitting the decline button on her phone. The last thing she needed was to hear a drunken Frank yelling at her once again. 

“Yeah, I meant to ask about that. Why are you still here? I thought all the nics left a while ago.” 

“Oh, they did,” she said while trying to find her wallet amongst her scattered things in the back seat. Maybe chucking everything into a heap hadn’t been the best plan. “I stuck around to finish up the docket and lost track of time.” 

“Ah, the infamous docket. Well, I’m glad to see that you at least one mechanic around here does work on it,” he said. When Matty paused long enough to glance at him over her shoulder, Bradley winced. Then he cleared his throat with a smile. “I’m, uh, kidding. It was a joke.” 

“Oh,” Matty blinked. Then, when she realized how absurd the entire thing was, she let herself laugh about it. Bradley laughed too, relaxing when he was sure she hadn’t taken offense to the entire thing. She even shot him a cheeky grin and said, “sorry. Guess I’m not used to pilots with a sense of humor. I didn’t realize you guys even knew what a joke was.” 

He snorted. “Man. You mechanics are mean. Maybe I’m starting to understand why we don’t hang out together.” 

She laughed as she finally found her wallet amongst the chaos, and when she retracted from her back seat, she found Bradley grinning down at her. It was almost... nice. 

Having an inside joke with a pilot, being able to tease each other without feeling like they were actually trading insults rather than jokes, maybe even getting along with someone that wasn’t in her pool. 

Maybe that’s why she said, “well, before you go tell everyone that we don’t do our jobs, I finished your jet tonight.” 

“Really?” Bradley asked in surprise. Clearly, that’s not what he thought she was going to say. “That’s why you’re here so late.” 

“Sorta.” 

“Sorta?”

Matty sighed, glanced at her phone, then figured another thirty seconds wouldn’t piss Boomer off anymore than three hours already did. Shrugging, she told him, “I didn’t mean to start it until the morning, but I thought it would be quick, and when I started—”

“You couldn’t stop,” he nodded, as if he understood exactly what she was trying to say. 

“And now I’m gonna hear it from Boomer for the rest of the night.” 

“Boomer is...?”

“The Aussie,” she told him. He thought about it before nodding. “Yeah, pretty fitting name considering he can’t ever talk at a normal volume.”

“Was he the one that hustled me and Bob out of two hundred bucks at the bar?”

“Sorry?”

He looked at her, then shook his head. “No, you’re not.” 

She grinned, tongue in cheek. “No, I’m really not. I like to think of it as karma for everything else.” 

Bradley winced, scratching the back of his neck with a pink blush. “About that—”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“Well, no, not really,” she settled her back against her jeep, quirking a smile when he furrowed his brows at her quick contradiction. She shrugged under his gaze. “I know how to do my job without people like you coming into my motorpool to tell me about it, but I get that you’re not here long so it must be frustrating to have to wait for a fix. Although, if you ever try that again...” 

“I won’t,” he shook his head. 

And, oddly enough, she believed him. 

Imagine that. 

Matty Neven believing the promise of a pilot. One that she hardly knew, at that. Her dad would be having a field day if he could hear this conversation. 

Hell, Maverick was gonna have a field day when he heard about this. 

She decided right then and there to never tell Maverick about any of this. 

 “And I am sorry about, well...” Bradley tugged his lip between his teeth nervously. It was almost cute. “I didn’t mean to insult you. And I didn’t mean to upset you at the bar. I just thought you were, you know, gorgeous... Still think that, actually, but I didn’t realize it would be a whole big thing.” 

Matty grinned. Then, when she realized she was smiling like an idiot, she tried to settle it into something a little more appropriate and a little less pre-teen girl getting hit on. What she managed was something between a grimace and a smile with a smattering of pink blush across her cheekbones. 

She would blame it on the sunset if anyone ever asked. 

“Well, now you know,” she told him simply. He didn’t take offense to that, and she thought that was good because if they got along this well all the time, she might have to remind herself of that particular rule more often than not so she didn’t do anything stupid. “I don’t date pilots. No hard feelings about it. It’s not like you were a total asshat like some pilots are. A low bar, but, ya know.” 

Bradley laughed. It was a deep sound that echoed from the depths of his chest, but it was surprisingly warm and playful. Later that night she would wonder why she even noticed something as mundane as that, but at that moment, her phone started ringing again and she realized once more that—fuck—Boomer actually was gonna kill her.

“Shit,” she groaned before swinging her door open. “Sorry, I really have to go.”

“Hot date?” he asked. 

Matty huffed. If only he knew how few times she had one of those. 

“More like a group of mechanics that were expecting me three hours ago,” she chirped while climbing into her seat. She started her car as Bradley shut the door for her, and with her window panes removed from the jeep, he was able to lean on the door with a crooked smile. 

“You’re showing up late to a party just because of me?” he asked, and, god, the way he joked around with her was definitely something she would have to be wary of. Because despite everything she might actually like it. “That’s awfully nice for someone that doesn’t like flyboys.”

“Hm. Have I ever mentioned that pilots tend to have egos?” 

He shrugged as if he couldn’t remember. “Once or twice, maybe.”

Matty laughed with the shake of her head while swiftly sending a text to Frank rather than answering his call so she could get yelled at again. “How many times should I tell you before it sticks?”

“I don’t know,” he whistled, pulling his lip between his teeth with a thoughtful tilt of the head. “How many times do I have to ask to buy you a drink before you say yes?”

“At least once more.” 

He smiled. “Then you’ll probably have to tell me at least once more that you don’t date flyboys.” 

Matty tried not to smile at that; tried not to enjoy the smoothness of his voice or the warmth of his smile. But... well, fuck, if that wasn’t a difficult ask when he was standing so close, looking so good, speaking like that. 

Somehow, she managed. 

“Bradshaw, I don’t let pilots buy me alcohol.” 

“Not even as a thank you for helping me out?” he asked. Then, when her phone started buzzing again, he amended, “or to make up for all the shit you’re gonna get tonight from your friends?”

“Tempting,” and god was it, but thankfully Matty managed to keep her wits about her while shooting another text back to Frank. “But no.” 

“Not even if it’s tequila?”

Matty shook her head with a snort, before none-too-gently shoving him off of her door frame. He didn’t mind. Just smiled as he settled back against the clean, crisp paint of his own vehicle. 

“Bye, Bradley,” she said. 

“See you around, Matty,” he grinned. 

She threw her jeep into drive as her phone started to ring again, and as she finally peeled out of the parking lot, Matty couldn’t help but snag one last glimpse of Bradley in her rearview mirror. He was still watching her, a gentle smile on his face as he shook his head—at himself, at her, she would never really know—and she had to force herself to look away.

She was still smiling when she did so, and as she pulled off base, Matty was pretty sure that her cheeks were still tinted pink from it. 

She would think about that some other time. 

Right now, she needed to buy a shit ton of beer, limes, chips, and ice. 

And when Matty showed up to work the next day to find a large cup of hot coffee on her desk with a small sticky note attached to it that included nothing other than a smiley face and her name scribbled in neat cursive—well, fuck, she didn’t get all that mad that Bradshaw had managed to find a way around her rules. Because he had, hadn’t he?

She had said that she didn’t let pilots buy her alcohol. Coffee wasn’t that. And it’s not like she had let him buy her a drink. He had done that all on his own. 

So, really, she wasn’t breaking her own rules at all. 

 Right?

*** taglist (thanks for asking!) @callsignbarb @coyotesamachado @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @olivethenerd16 @alanadetigy @the-winter-marvel33 @hiddleless​ @momc95​

guys i am so sorry it took so long to produce! my life has been a fast moving hellscape lately with 2 weddings of which i was the wedding planner and maid of honor for one, an 18 hour car ride during which my car broke down and i got a ticket, and starting a new semester of grad school.

 the good news is i am back on a normal schedule, and plan to post chapters to this fic every sunday until its finished! thank you for reading!

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (July 10/2021) - The Beets Episode

Tubbo, Sam and Foolish create a definitely-not-a-cult based around beets for the good of vegans, turning the newly cleared-out area by the Prime Path into one giant stretch of farmland. 

---

VOD LINKS:

Awesamdude

Tubbo

Tommyinnit

Captain Puffy

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- While wandering around the server, Tubbo notices that he’s having trouble finding food and decides to create a farm

- He asks Sam for help, and Sam points out the cow farms. Tubbo tells him to think of the vegans. Tubbo suggests beetroots instead

- Foolish arrives, dressed as Mario, and they declare him “Beets Man”

- They turn Hutt’s Pizza into Hutt’s Beetza

- Tubbo reads Connor’s diary

- Tubbo wants to create an empire of beets all the way to the Community House. They shall be the Beets Trio, and after they create the beet farm, they will destroy every other source of food

- Sam learns that Fran has been stolen. Time to blow things up

- They go to Puffy’s temple and blow up her pictures. They debate killing one of the parrots, but instead return to beet farming

- Fundy logs on and they make him a Beets Brother. If he doesn’t join their initiative, it means he hates vegans. Fundy hesitantly agrees to join since he does not hate vegans

- Fundy arrives and is shocked by the amount of beets. He also notices they got rid of the Socializing Club, to which they respond that it is all for the beets

- If someone says they do not like beets, they will cut off their balls. “Anti-Beeters Lose a Ball.” How else will they supply for the war if they don’t have enough beets?

- Some people do hate vegans, so they will be going to war against them. There is already conflict between Toby Carvery and Vegan Pizza

- Fundy starts crying while planting beets

- Sam points out that beets are a very inefficient food source

Tubbo: “Sam, do you want kids when you’re older or am I gonna have to step in here? Like, you know imagine it, you’re in your what -- your fuckin’ thirties and you’re settling down, Sam, and you wanna have kids but then you’re like ‘oh wait! I forgot! I don’t like beetroot so I don’t have any balls!’ So, you know. ‘Cause I will step in. With force.”

Sam: “You’ll step in? With force? Would you say that you mean business almost?”

Tubbo: “No, I don’t mean business. I mean beets.”

- Their political party will be “the Beeties”

- Fundy is horrified to see that he has accidentally harvested a beet that was not ready to be harvested. He continues crying as he plants. If they take breaks, the vegans suffer. As they farm, Sam and Fundy whisper to each other:

Sam: let’s run away

Fundy: but I like vegans

Sam: so do I. They will understand.

Fundy: they want me to harvest the beets. I want them to like me. I like vegans they must like me back. I shall continue

Sam: I shall free you from this one day.

Fundy: plant.. harvest.. repeat.. plant.. harvest.. repeat.. plant.. harvest.. repeat.. plant.. harvest.. repeat.. plant.. harvest.. repeat.. plant.. harvest.. repeat..

Sam: I will take you to a better place.

- Tubbo’s hoe breaks and they mark the block where it happened to remember the history. They decide to halt, finishing Stage 1. Fundy is the Chosen One and will play a key role in Stage 26

- Sam whispers to Fundy that it is time and leads Tubbo and Foolish to the other side of the hill. They admire their work and destroy Tommy’s fence, as it intrudes on the beets

- Tommy logs on. Tubbo tells Sam that Tommy stole his dog

- Sam whispers to Fundy that it’s time and they run. As Tommy comes over, Fundy and Sam run by and hand him steak. Fundy makes it away for now. Sam tells him to be free as he returns to the beet farm

- Tommy sees the beets. He isn’t pleased, and Fundy falls to his death

Tubbo: “Clearly you hate the vegans.”

Tommy: “Of course I hate vegans!”

- Tubbo draws his axe. As Tommy backs away, Tubbo shoots and kills him. Sam immediately starts running to the prison to get the revive book from Dream (but Tommy has already respawned)

- Tubbo tells Tommy that in time, he too will be a fan of the beets

- Fundy returns and they watch as he jumps into one of the beets watering hole before returning to work

- Tommy tells the beets men to get off his land and rebuilds the fence. Fundy comes up to them having stopped working. Sam says Fundy should quit. Fundy starts walking around, planting beets wherever he goes

- Sam wants to go find Fran and no longer wishes to continue with this. Tubbo protests

- They point out that even the bats are harvesting beets. Seeing this, Fundy realizes that if bats harvest beets, then Fundy does not have to harvest beets

Fundy: “FUNDY IS FREE!”

- He jumps from the path and dies

- Tommy has decided he wants to let go of the war items he no longer needs, since the server is peaceful now

- Tubbo tries to convince Sam to stay, offering every belonging he owns

- Sam turns and walks away, leaving Tubbo in anguish

- The rain goes away and Tubbo decides he actually can do it without Sam

- Tommy makes it to Pogtopia and visits the storage vault

- Tubbo and Foolish ponder what to do if not planting beets on the other side of the path...Pumpkins. They decide on pumpkins. Foolish becomes Yoshi

- Tommy reaches Logsted. He wants people in iron armor, not Netherite. He digs a hole with a chest and stores the gear, ending with the Axe of Peace

- Tommy has decided he doesn’t want to keep a stretch of the railway that’s connected to his house, as it reminds him of losing Henry. He gets rid of part of the railway

- Tubbo and Foolish decide to do beets again instead

- Tommy destroys his gravestone in Puffy’s graveyard

- Tommy does some cleaning up of the land

- Meanwhile, Sam successfully finds Fran and goes mining in the Nether

- Tommy goes back to Tubbo and tells him he has learned what a ‘cuck’ is at last. Tommy has also brought seeds and asks for a large portion of the farm to be dedicated to wheat. Tubbo doesn’t approve. They don’t want business, just beets

- Tommy starts running. They try to get Tommy to eat one beet, explaining that they can bypass pregnancy with beets

- Tommy pretends to eat one. He gates off his property and tells them they are now on gated territory

- He notices them return to his property after a bit, chasing a pig named Wiggles. Tommy decides to indoctrinate Wiggles

- Tubbo and Foolish bridge over above the roof of Tommy’s house, outside of the chunk

- Tommy’s landlord is Jesus Christ

- Tommy gets a saddle and puts it on Wiggles. He gets on the pig and logs out. Foolish and Tubbo find out that Wiggles has disappeared

- Sam goes to the prison. He shows a glimpse of the courtyard

- Tubbo and Foolish ask Sam if he ever found Fran. Sam says yes, and Tubbo explains about Tommy taking Wiggles

- Foolish suggests they get Tommy’s family and hold them hostage

- Sam says Tubbo’s dog needs to be put down. They start bickering until the dog gets pushed off the Power Tower and falls to his death

- Tubbo demands Sam be put in the prison. They go to the prison and Tubbo asks to be let in. Sam says Tubbo can only visit the entrance. He tries to bribe Sam and Sam says he’d be willing to do a tour for a shulker box

- Tubbo begs and begs until eventually Sam gives in. Tubbo immediately activates Sam’s stasis chambers and Sam says he’ll kill him...as soon as he mines through the glass with Mining Fatigue. After a minute of mining, Tubbo places concrete as soon as Sam finally breaks one block

- Sam finally gets out and Tubbo reluctantly leaves...and immediately breaks the portal mechanics by spawning a new portal in the entryway

- Tubbo actually leaves, with Sam now having to mine more obsidian

- Puffy is not happy about the new beet farm. Puffy replaces the beets with potatoes and talks with Foolish, who insists on the beets

- Foolish replaces the potatoes with beets, which Puffy destroys and tries to replace with potatoes, and this goes on for a while. Puffy complains that they could have had room for so many cool buildings, but Foolish doesn’t see why one would build instead of having beets

- Puffy tells Foolish he has a choice to make and watches as he eats a steak. She declares it “potato time”

- They wonder about which side Dream would be one. Puffy says that he would likely be more of a potato guy

- Puffy keeps planting potatoes, and Michael logs on as well. Puffy asks him which he prefers, potatoes or beets, and Michael says potatoes

- Michael sees the farm and Puffy explains what happened with L’Targay and the beets farm

- The three of them chat. Dream was sentenced to prison for being a silly goose

- They also talk about shirt-wearing koalas, maid outfits and plenty more and continue to chat for a while

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

[calpalirwin]

Numbers

Summary: Sebastian doesn’t want to be another number to you, but little does he know he’s the only one.

A/N: Everyone say thank you to @jessalyn-jpeg​ for always being willing to cry over this man with me. 

Important distinction: Italics represent his thoughts, while bold italics represent hers

Word Count: 3.2k

And away, and away we go!

__

The sun was high and warm, and the sounds of wood cracking against leather grew louder as Y/N walked towards the baseball fields. “Yo, Number 1, lookin’ good!” she whistled, her fingers wrapping themselves in the chain link fence surrounding the field.

There was a loud laugh from the man playing shortstop, and he turned to either flip her off or stick out his tongue, but a baseball came flying in his direction, high and powerful. But not high enough. Almost lazily, Sebastian lifted his heels off the dirt, raising his left hand in the air, the ball coming to a stop in his glove.

“Right field, get ready!” Anthony, the pitcher shouted. “Stan’s lucky charm showed up!”

“I don’t need luck, Mackie,” Sebastian taunted, pulling at the sleeves of his jersey. “I’m Number 1 for a reason. Best shortstop in the state, right here, baby!”

“Mackie! Stan!” the coach barked in warning.

“Sorry!” both men laughed. And with his brief pause, Sebastian took off his hat, waving it at Y/N in greeting as she took a seat in the stands, before putting it back over his sweaty locks of brown hair.

As the practice continued, more girls made their way out to watch the team, and Y/N couldn’t blame them. Something about a guy’s ass in baseball pants, especially when that ass belonged to Sebastian Stan. And the college baseball team didn’t have any complaints about the attention they gathered, plays becoming more dramatic than they needed to be as a chance to show off, until the coaches finally called it quits.

“So,” Anthony asked Sebastian as they headed for the dugout. “Is today the day you ask out Y/N finally? Or should I try to shoot my shot? Like what's going on here, man? Cuz whatever it is between you, it’s gone on way too long, and I only got so much patience.”

Sebastian wasn’t sure how his face could grow warmer after being in the sun practicing for two hours, but it did. “I- We’re friends, ya know? And it’s not that I don’t wanna ask her out. It’s that I don’t know how. Or how she’ll react. It’s… a whole thing, ya get me?”

“Dude…” Anthony shook his head. “I say this because I care. But if you’re gonna make a move, make it fast. No one wants to be the one to cross you when we all know you got a thing for her. But if you’re not gonna shoot your shot…”

“Thanks…” Sebastian said, not sure if he appreciated the obvious advice or not. He knew he needed to ask Y/N sooner rather than later. But the idea that his teammates were lying in wait for him to either make a move, or step aside stirred up feelings of jealousy. But the only way of making sure they didn’t date her… He slung his bag over his shoulder, before squaring them and strutting out of the dugout, headed straight for Y/N. “Now or never, Stan,” he whispered to himself.

“Seb!” a girl called out and he turned to the sound, putting a smile on his face.

“Hey.” He offered a small wave, his eyes spotting Y/N, and kept walking, but then more girls were calling his name, batting their eyelashes, and touching his arm as they asked questions, and somehow Y/N got lost in the shuffle.

Y/N watched from her spot, the smile on her face dropping as she watched Sebastian get swarmed by girls who only wanted his attention so they could later brag to their friends that they’d gotten to talk to the star of the baseball team. And Sebastian wasn’t the type to be rude, even when he should.

Sighing, she shouldered her bag, heading down the bleachers, figuring she’d she go rescue him from his oh-so terrible prison of adoring girls.

“Hey, Y/N,” a shy voice called out as her feet hit concrete.

She lifted her gaze to find one of the newer players smiling at her. “Oh, hey, Tom,” she smiled back at him. “Good practice out there.”

“Heh, thanks,” he mumbled, his cleat digging into the ground. “So… you waiting for Seb?”

“I was yeah,” she admitted, looking over at Sebastian who was still under siege. And then a swell of anger bubbled inside her. If he couldn’t be bothered to pull himself away from them for her, then she didn’t have to wait for him. “But I’ll just catch him later. So, what’s up?”

Tom blinked in surprise. “Uh… I… Not much really. Was gonna head back to my dorm. Ya know, normal stuff I guess.”

“Well c’mon, I’m headed that way myself, I’ll walk with ya.”

Tom brightened as someone whistled from behind. “Damn! Kid’s got moves!” Anthony’s voice called out loudly. He jogged a few steps to join the couple, “Yo, Y/N, what about Seb?”

Y/N looked over her shoulder at Sebastian who still wasn’t even looking her way. “What about him?”

~~~

She mumbled airplane sounds under her breath, twisting her wrist to make the paper airplane fly around, before she really sent it flying across the living room. She watched as it glided through the air before nose-diving into the carpet as the front door opened.

“Apology food?” Sebastian asked with a hopeful smile, holding up a bag of takeout as he kicked the door shut.

“And what’s the apology for?” she asked, rising to her feet and crossing her arms.

“For being a dick after practice.”

“Chinese?”

“Your favorite,” he said, handing her the bag.

“Fine. Your transgressions against the crown are forgiven. This time.”

He tilted his head back as he laughed. “Thank you, your Highness. Although a little birdie told me that you ended up alright. Holland, huh?”

“Mackie is worse than girls with gossip, I swear…” Y/N said with an eye roll. “But yeah, Holland and I talked.”

“You know he’s a freshman, right?”

“Aw, is somebody jealous?” She flashed him a sardonic smile as they both plopped down on the couch and dug into the food.

Sebastian let out a scoff. “Me? Jealous of Holland? Pfft, yeah right.” Yes, insanely jealous, actually.

“Oh, so if I said he walked me all the way to the apartment, that wouldn’t make you mad?”

“You’re not my girlfriend, Y/N,” he said around a swallow of food. Despite how much I wish you were.  “If you wanna make baby Holland feel like a man for escorting you home, I really don’t give a shit. But you can do better than a freshman.” Like me.

Like you? “And you’d smell better with a shower,” was her retort as she knocked her shoulder into his.

“Mmm, you gonna join me?”

“Pfft! In your dreams, maybe.” And in mine.

Only in my dreams cuz once again, I fucked up.

~~~

Y/N figured one date would be enough to stir Sebastian into action. But one, the man had already made himself scarce by the time she left for her date. And two, the date sucked.

You’re not Sebastian was all she could think about throughout the dinner of cheesy one-liners, and bad jokes that bordered on offensive.

“So…” he asked suggestively as they walked out. “Wanna head back to my place?”

“No, I’m kinda tired,” she declined politely.

“Oh… well then I’ll call you sometime and we can do this again, maybe?”

“Yeah… no,” she said, shaking her head. “This was… nice. But no. You and I? Not gonna happen.”

“Right… I forgot you’re friends with Stan.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, c’mon. Dude obviously likes you. And he’s not the one anyone wants to have on their bad side.”

“Then why did you ask me out? If all of you are so scared of Seb?”

“Cuz you’re hot, and I’m not on the baseball team,” he shrugged.

“Yeah… I’m gonna go home now. And you… ugh… yeah, no. Not gonna happen.”

~~~

Sebastian turned his head as the door opened. “Back before curfew, huh? Whatta gentleman.”

“Fuck you,” she told him with a roll of her eyes before stalking off towards her bedroom.

“Whoa, whoa, wait,” he said, bolting up off the couch. “C’mon, what happened?”

He wasn’t you. “He’s a pig. Said all the wrong things.”

“That sucks. But hey, can’t all be winners, right?”

“I guess… Although he did say one thing that was somewhat interesting.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Apparently you scare people off from asking me out.”

He snorted. “That’s fuckin’ stupid. Will I be pissed if some jackoff makes you feel like shit? Yeah, and I’ll probably say something. But shit… I’m not your boyfriend, or your dad, or some shit. Sounds like a lame cop-out because they just don’t wanna admit they’re pussies.”

And what’s your lame cop-out? “Ugh… I need a drink.”

“Grab me one, yeah?” he asked, sinking back down into the couch as she changed directions to head into the kitchen instead.

“So, how was your night?” she asked, grabbing two beers from the fridge.

“Uneventful,” he shrugged. “There was a girl I was hoping to go out with, but it didn’t work.”

“Aw damn. That sucks,” she said, as she joined him on the couch and handed him one of the beers. 

“Eh, it was my fault for not asking sooner,” he shrugged again, clinking his beer against hers. “To shitty nights.”

“Here, here,” Y/N cheered half-heartedly as they both took a long drink. “Fuck it. Paper airplane contest?”

He snorted into his beer. “We’re not seven anymore.”

“Aw, afraid you’ll lose?”

He sat up straighter. “Loser buys next case of beer?”

“You better get your wallet out, now.”

~~~

Sebastian knew he should have taken his chance after that first date gone bad. And Y/N knew she should have pushed him harder in her confrontation. But for whatever reason, the friends stayed at their stubborn stalemate.

Without Sebastian willing to make a move, Y/N began to wonder if maybe everyone had it all wrong. Maybe Sebastian was simply protective of her without having an ulterior motive behind it. So, she continued to go on dates with other guys on campus to ease the ache, until she couldn’t pretend they weren’t Sebastian anymore.

For his part, Sebastian not only took careful notes of the reasons Y/N gave for each of her short-lived romances, he also stupidly pointed her in the direction of new interests. And then he tried not to drown in his jealousy, before learning to grow doubtful of wanting a romantic relationship with her at all. Why would he want to sacrifice a lifelong friendship just to become another nameless guy she tossed to the side once she had her fun with him?

~~~

“Sebastian!” she gasped at him when he came home one night as she nursed away the end of yet another short-lived romance that wasn’t him.

“You’re drunk,” was the observation as he dropped his duffle bag to the floor.

“Ooooohhhh yeah,” she giggled at him with a wide grin, eyes hazy. “You gonna join me?”

“So we can both be sick? Yeah… Not a chance.”

“Boo…” she pouted. “You never wanna do anything with me.”

“One night. One night I don’t wanna drink with you, and that equates to me not wanting to do anything with you ever? Make it make sense, Y/N.”

“Well, you don’t wanna date me, that’s for sure,” was the drunk scoff.

He balked. “When did I ever say that?”

“Well it’s true, isn’t it? Everyone keeps saying that you like me, but you don’t do anything about it. Are they all lying? Or are you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not doing this. I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Why not?!”

“Because you’re drunk off your ass!”

“Just answer the question!”

“I don’t know!”

“What type of bullshit answer is that?! How do you not know if you wanna date someone?!”

“It’s the answer you give when you used to think you wanted to, but now you’re not sure anymore! Now… I gave you my answer. And I already told you once I’m not having this conversation. Not when you’re drunk. I’m going to bed. G’night Y/N.”

“COWARD!” she hurled the insult at his retreating back.

In his room, Sebastian didn’t sleep. He lay in bed watching his ceiling fan spin in slow hypnotic circles, cursing himself for letting it get this bad. If he had just asked her out after that one practice… If he could just rewind the clock…

In the living room, Y/N sobbed into her hands. The distractions never worked, even the promising ones. And Sebastian… If it turned out he didn’t want her…

Thoughts spiraled and time ticked by, Y/N growing more sober, and Sebastian more angry with himself.

“Seb?” she asked in a small whisper, knocking lightly on his door as she pushed it open, finding him still awake in bed, the little lamp on his nightstand illuminating the room.

“What do you want, Y/N?” he asked, more harshly than he meant to, as he pushed himself to sit up against his headboard.

“I- Nevermind… It’s stupid…”

“No, wait,” he called out to her as she turned to leave. “I didn’t mean it like that. I- What’s up? What did you wanna ask?”

She took a slow breath to steady herself as she turned back around to face him. “Do you like me? God, that sounds so juvenile…”

“Of course I like you, Y/N. You’re my best friend.”

“But you don’t like me enough to date me. Just enough to be protective about me dating anyone else.”

He sighed. Now, or never. “It’s not that I don’t wanna date you, Y/N. It’s that I’m scared to.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“To you, maybe. But to me, it’s perfectly valid.”

“How? How is that a valid reason? Sebastian Stan, scared of dating a girl? A girl who he’s known his whole life? Make it make sense.”

“You think I wanna be one of the guys you date? Maybe if you actually dated people, I wouldn’t have ever thought twice about dating you myself. But you don’t date, Y/N. You… God, I dunno what it is you do, but it’s not dating.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, feeling tears well up. “Fuck you! You don’t get to slut-shame me!”

“Slut-shame you?! How is it slut-shaming that I don’t wanna be another number to you?! That I don’t wanna be another source of entertainment for you until you get bored of me?!”

“Because you’re not a number, Sebastian!”

“Bullshit I’m not! You literally call me Number 1! You don’t love Y/N! You… you entertain yourself until someone better comes along!”

“That’s not true…” she whispered, heartbroken that he thought it was.

“It was for all the other guys! I don’t wanna be like them, Y/N! I don’t wanna be some random number to you! I wanna be the one! I don’t know how much clearer I can make that.”

“You know I only dated them to make you jealous, right?”

“Well congrats… you win. I’m insanely jealous of every guy that you parade through that goddamn door.” His mouth twisted and his vision started to swim.

“I didn’t wanna win, Seb. I wanted you.”

He hissed through his teeth. “Past tense… that, uh… Yeah, that hurts. Thanks for that… For this…” he twirled his finger about the room. “Awesome conversation. Glad we could have this talk.”

“You wanna know why it never worked with those guys?!” she yelled at him, her hands flying up in the air. “They weren’t you! God, I tried so hard to make it work with those guys! Any of them! But none of them made me feel the way you do. None of them get me the way you do. And… God! I wish they did! I wish at least one of them did, because then I could finally stop wasting my time on you when it’s obvious you don’t feel the same way about me!”

“I don’t feel the same?!” He grabbed a small notebook, hurling it at her. “If I never felt the same, explain that!” He pulled down the collar of his shirt, pointing at a small tattoo of a paper airplane on his chest “If I never felt the same, explain this!”

“Y-you got a tattoo? When?”

The sudden drop of her voice level took him a moment to realize what she’d asked. “When you started dating the guy with tattoos…” he told her.

“And this?” she asked, bending down to pick up the small notebook he’d thrown at her, thumbing through it. “Blue eyes, tattoos. Text back on time. Don’t say stupid shit,” she read aloud. “A-are these notes on how to date me?”

He shrugged. “I like to think they’re observations.”

“W-why would you need notes on how to date me?”

“To make sure you don’t get bored of me. To make sure you don’t forget me.”

“Seb-”

He shook his head fiercely, feeling his throat close up. “Don’t. Just don’t, okay? I know this is all my fault. I know if I had just stopped being a little bitch, and said something sooner like I wanted to, none of this would be happening right now. But I- Fuck… It’s always been me and you, and I dunno what I’d do if that stopped happening. You’re my best friend. And I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. And… I can’t risk losing you. I won’t lose you. Even if that means spending the rest of my life jealous of the guys you date.”

“And you never bothered to think that I had the same fears? That I’m just as in love with your stupid ass?”

“Why would you be? I’m just the idiot best friend.”

“Haven’t you been listening? I- God, did you really get a tattoo?” she asked. “What even is it?”

“It’s a paper airplane,” he mumbled, face turning red.

“Can I see it again?” she asked somewhat shyly.

He shrugged, taking off his shirt and tossing it to the side. “Happy now?”

“Oh, Seb,” she giggled, crossing the room to him. “You didn’t have to take your shirt off. You could have just tugged down your collar again.”

“Are you complaining?” he teased lightly, pulling her into his lap.

“God, no,” she said with another giggle. “Oh, Seb,” she sighed, her fingers tracing the ink on his skin. “God, we’re so fuckin’ stupid, aren’t we?”

“Oh, I’m definitely stupid,” he admitted. “Said and done so much stupid shit I shouldn’t have said or done.” His nose nudged against hers, his lips brushing against her cheek when he said, “God, I’m so sorry. I shoulda manned up sooner. And I shouldn’t have said those things about the guys you dated. I just- I fucked up. I let my insecurities get in the way, and I fucked up.”

“I fucked up too, Seb,” she whispered, carding her hands through his hair. “I was trying to fill a you-sized hole when I had you in front of me the whole time.”

“So you still want me? Even after I was the idiot coward that kept fucking up?” The blue eyes were big and watery with small traces of fear as they held her gaze steady, foreheads knocked together.

“Of course I still want you. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted, Seb.”

__

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[unpopularly-opinionated]

I don’t play WoW but I used to play Overwatch and Diablo and this touches on just the general issues that are inside of Activision Blizzard right now regarding the major decline of World of Warcraft and how they’re losing to Final Fantasy XIV, how if the latest WoW expansion or Overwatch 2 flop as they’re projected to do then Blizzard’s most definitely going to pivot almost entirely to mobile games, and how the differences in age demographics are actually dividing the company into multiple camps.

It’s important to note two things: 1) this could be fake but also 2) the link came from Grummz, a former team lead on WoW and producer on Diablo II and Starcraft. It still could be fake despite this, but if he’s sharing it then I feel like there’s at least some measure of truth in this.

Transcription below in case this gets deleted and/or you don’t wanna click the link. Warning, it’s fairly long.

“I’m dropping this here after getting chewed out for three hours over shit the chewee did at work so fuck it. Assume larp and let me vent.”

>Shadowlands is a shitshow. Critical response, Player drop off and just about every engagement metric outside of cash shop have been catastrophic. No higher up expected this because of their “we are too big to fail, if we built it they will come” mentality. They refuse to accept their focus on the world being a begrudged mechanic to funnel players to raiding is not appealing to the player base at large because it appeals to them. They have spent the last 4 months trying to course correct but there is no solid direction and the response to 9.1 has only made things worse.

>Sylvanas is planned to replace the Arbiter despite so many people in the company and god knows how many online saying this would be a total replication of Kerrigans storyline in Starcraft 2 that killed none competitive interest in the brand entirely and you can only go “no, no they WILL like it eventually” for so many real world years before its time to change course. Thus far that has not happened.

>The elephant in the room is FFXIV. To the people in charge they are acting like this came out of nowhere and don’t even seem to understand why its drawing players away in their tens of thousands. We have all tried to highlight things it is doing that are clearly appealing to an mmo audience and not, in my opinion, focussing more on mobile game style retention traps to keep MAU users and habit forming personalities logging in. Its not that they don’t care. They just seem so pig headed and digging their heels in with their fingers in their ears thinking all the problems will go away because WoW is “too big to fail”, there will never be real competition and “they will keep coming back”. But they aren’t coming back anymore. Not in the numbers they used to.

>The people making the spending choices know this. The new model for WoW is market the hell out of a expansion pack for a huge quarter then use 6 month lock ins to pad numbers for the quarters after that. Even if corona had not happened 9.1 still would have been dropping after the initial 6 month subs expired to “keep the chain holding”.

>The mood in the company is tense but also very much “its just a rough transition period”. Activision has been pushing hard for Blizzard to release more regular product and to generate more income per user. As far as i know this is going to be a transition over the next 5 years to a much larger mobile/tablet gaming focus. By all accounts not just WoW but Overwatch was intended to be the moneymaker in the interim but once again someone had the bright idea to kill a game casual players loved on the alter of e-sports hoping for another Brood War. From what i hear the “told you so’s” were loud and a lot of people walked beyond Kaplan.

>The sentiment that was shared quietly in private but being spoken more often is simply that the leadership at Blizzard are not bad people, nor incompetent people but people who had to fill seats left when the old guard jumped ship wether they were suited for it or not. Brack is a genuinely good man out of his depth, Ion is a fantastic raid designer put in charge of designing a virtual world he has no interest or real ideas for and so on. They have been taking form the roles they excel at to be put in positions where they get to do far less of that purely because there is nobody left with the experience to do so and the trickle down is a lack of concrete direction, ambition and focus.

>2021 has seen the playerbase, media and gaming at large “turn” on WoW to a degree i don’t think the leads in their “positivity dojo” bubble considered possible. Its gone from people going “This is how Blizz needs to fix WoW!” to “WoW is no longer salvageable, time for greener pastures” and i think on some level this was never considered as a possibility so there have never been any major plans beyond the usual “try and minimise player drop off by arranging releases around competitors launching updates/products”. The official forums being filled with talk of FFXIV and worse “why do we actually pay a sub?” hasn’t helped.

>There have been some testing the waters lately from certain higher ups if we can remove the line “No King Rules Forever”. Read into that what you will.

>There are still arguments going on about the Kael’thas Voice actor shitshow. I don’t know much about it but i know its heated, wouldn’t be the first time a knee jerk reaction only seemed to generate bad press. We lost a noticeable amount of pvp engagement after the Swifty thing.

>The Preach interview was treated as a disaster and there was talk of more strongly vetting interviewers for “bad actors” and only engaging with a list of questions Blizzard provides. Some pointed out that could just be used to create some form of Fireside Chat akin to the FFXIV “Live letters” but that fell on deaf ears.

>The two sentiments right now among the team are either “we really need a win” or “theres a dedicated cabal of internet trolls out to kill WoW”. Right now we are crunching hard to get 9.2 ready to wrap up the jailors storyline so we can get an expansion out early 2022. If that doesn’t happen there are talks of major shakeups coming down from Activision that have been threatened for a few  years now. Its an all hands on deck feeling thats been around to some degree since the “Is this an out of season April Fools Joke” Blizzcon. A make or break deadline is coming closer and things like Diablo 4 were not planned before then. Blizzard needs a significant win not just in initial profit but consumer goodwill. Nobody likes working at what the public now seems to see as “the bad guy” of the mmo industry.

>This has also made new hires decline. Not significantly but the “you WANT Blizzard on your resume” line doesn’t seem to have the appeal it used to. This has lead to more hiring via friend of a friend, to some rumblings about nepotism, and people severely lacking in experience “because they get great twitter optics”.

>On the topic of Twitter we are not being told to “disengage” from it. Multiple employees like Nervig and Holisky publicly attacking paying customers because they got too heated and couldn’t keep quiet is bad press that could have been avoided. A email reminder has gone around more than once lately stating “if you are not customer relations you should not be representing the company to customers, especially if you cannot remain professional”.

>Lastly the biggest elephant in the room is “yo’ boy” Asmongold. The newer hires cannot stand him. They have used terms like “toxic masculinity” and “dogwhistles to dangerous males” while some of the oldest crowd still remaining have called him “based” or “telling it like it is” which has lead to friction to put it mildly. People are told not to talk about him and the recent FFXIV stuff only made it all worse. The idea that an outside element can have such an effect on the product genuinely upsets people. Like Zach is engaging in some malicious act of cyberwarfare. Many of us have point out the now famous quotes by Naoki Yoshida about understanding that players will drift and we need to make something worth coming back to because they want to but some people for lack of a better word see out customers -or “consumers” as they refer to them nowadays- as some kind of antagonistic relationship where the goal is not being an entertainer putting on a show for a crowd but some kind of game hunter trying to trap a large, profitable kill. I wish i could blame Activision but this is a sentiment from more of the younger crowd than the “tech boomers”. Which personal opinion is probably why so many folks like Metzen and Morheim left.

>Before you ask, yes the topic of “wokeness” has shown up in group talks. Its not all some grand sjw conspiracy, people really do want to feel welcome and represented. However the “we need everything veto’ed by people not working on it to see if its inoffensive and bland enough” rubs some of us the wrong way. Like anything in life you can take something too far and lose sight of the core ideals and with everything gone on since Blitzchung it feels like people are forming little factions to pull people in different directions to decide “What Blizzards identity is now” and how to appeal to new players. There has been some drop offs with “go woke go broke” as the only answer in the survey when unsubbing but honestly we are losing subs in unforseen numbers anyway and still making more money than ever through cash shop “heavy users” so it honestly doesn’t make an impact.

>All in all things are rough right now. Blizzard doesn’t have the love of the customers anymore, is no longer treated as an industry giant and while D4,D2R and Immortal aren’t going to kill Diablo even if they fail the sentiment for World of Warcraft and Overwatch 2 are a lot more tense and stressful. The phrase “it might be good to brush up on your mobile development portfolio if we get another underperformer” has been doing the rounds a lot. If Shadowlands continues its stark decline and Overwatch 2 is looking to underperform like its current projections suggest i think the Blizzard of a few years from now will be imitating King a lot more than trying to learn any lessons from Square Enix’s mmo division.

[marrys-dream-world]

if we’re bound to be something, why not together? (chapter eight)

Read on AO3

First / Previous / Next 

Notes:  Double update to make up for my sins? Day 8: Admiration. @ladynoirjuly

Ladybug was the person Chat Noir admired the most. 

Contrary to what most of the population assumed, she wasn't perfect at all. She was the most stubborn, short tempered and even slightly petty person he knew. Ladybug had a hard time admitting that she was wrong and was quick to fall into self-doubt, surprisingly willing to give up in the face of adversity when she thinks it would do people right. But she always pushed through that and tried her hardest to make up for her mistakes. Even though he loved that she was kind and brave, her strength against her own flaws was what made him see her with other eyes. What made him love her.

Whenever he had the opportunity, he told her as such. After all, his mother used to say the most important things were the ones that needed to be said. Fortunately, Alya Ceseire was always ready to give him one.

"It's stupid." Ladybug grumbled, looking at her yo-yo. It was open on the Ladyblog, an article titled "10 reasons Ladybug is the best superheroine".

"She's right and she should say it." Chat Noir said with a straight face, grin only breaking out when his lady turned a rather pretty shade of puce. “And looks like all the 1.2k comments agree.”

“This is so embarrassing. I mean, Alya knows who I am, she knows I'm not all that everyday.”

“If she wrote it, it’s probably because you are all that everyday.” He reasoned. Honestly, he couldn’t imagine Ladybug being less than the genuinely good person he knows she is.

“What? No, I’m a mess as my civilian self.”

He snorted. “Bad news, my lady, you’re a mess as Ladybug too.”

She hit his head with her yo-yo, light as she could, and he made a show of rubbing the reddish spot it left. 

“But really, you’re the best person I know.” Chat Noir said honestly. “I never met anyone so willing to give up their time to help people like you do, not without an ulterior motive.”

He thought of the great amount of greedy people he met during his on-going career as a mold for the Gabriel line. Something he learned pretty early from his mother, as she traded favors to get to her favored roles, was that nobody did anything without reason. When he asked Chloé about it, at the tender age of eight, she nodded along and gushed “that’s what mommy says, too, Adrikins! Aunt Emilie is sooo smart”. So he accepted it as a fact of life until he met Ladybug (and one other pig-tailed girl with a heart of gold).

“It’s just the right thing to do.” Ladybug shrugged, closing her yo-yo and starting to play with it. She didn’t understand how her whole existence flipped his world upside down. 

“I don’t see it often, though.” Chat Noir said sincerely. “I think the only person I know as kind as you is a friend of mine from school.”

"Oooh, is that friend and a girl?" She teased and he smiled softly.

"Actually, yeah, she is." He said and her smile slipped away from her face. "Sometimes I wish I could see you guys talk, I know you would get along."

"Oh, really?" Ladybug said, but she sounded a bit flat. "What 's she like?"

"She's a lot like you, my lady. She's kind and nice and helpful. Wow, it's weird not saying her name. That would be too much, right?" When Ladybug nodded, he put a hand under his chin, thoughtful. Yeah, super cool girls named Marinette weren't exactly in surplus in Paris. "Let me call her… Sallie. It's a cute name, so I think it suits her."

He read somewhere it meant "little princess", like the silly nickname he gave her when they met as Chat Noir and he was desperately trying to impress her. He thinks he did a pretty good job with that, if her falling in love with him was anything to go by. 

Ladybug's yo-yo met the concrete with enough strength to crack it and he shuddered, not quite knowing the reason why. 

"Okay, then. Sallie is also super smart and she's always solving other people's problems. Sometimes she goes a bit far, like you, but she always does the right thing in the end, also like you." Chat sighed a, as Plagg so helpfully called it, Marinette sigh. "She's also a natural leader and super crafty, she would do great with a miraculous."

He knew she would do great with a miraculous, but he couldn't exactly tell her that.

"You sound like you really like her." Ladybug said, voice coming out like she was gritting her teeth. 

"I do, I admire her a lot." Chat Noir smiled.

"That's great, Chat." From the tone of her voice, it didn't actually sound all that great.

Maybe she wasn't convinced that his friend was all that? Well, she met Marinette and knew she did a spectacular job as Multimouse during the fight with Kwamibuster, so she would probably agree if she knew who they were talking about. Even if she didn't, he had enough time to convince her of how great Marinette was. If he didn't, who would be the maid of honor on his wedding with his lady?

(Since some time ago, everytime he pictured his wedding, Marinette had been there. He wasn't quite sure what her part was, but she's his best girl friend besides Ladybug, who would be the bride, so the best bet was maid of honor, right?)

“You know, Alya was right in one thing.” Ladybug said, casually. He jumped back at the abrupt change of subject, but at least the look on her face wasn't so sour anymore. “She didn’t claim I’m the best superhero, just the best superheroine. The only way I could stand a chance, really.”

“What, no, my lady, you could take on any superhero.” Chat Noir insisted, frowning.

“I don’t know, there’s some stiff competition.” She continued, twirling her yo-yo’s cord. “Heard about some guy named Chat Noir, he seems pretty tough.”

He did his best to not swoon. “I don’t think anyone is tougher than you.”

“Oh, you haven’t met this guy, then.” She smiled, bright-hot as the sun.

His heart melted under that heat. 

[ramblinganthropologist]

MER Week 6 - Pets

Summary: Saren is the cutest little hamster in the world if you ask his owner. However, he is also territorial as fuck and he WILL bite. Grunt’s about to learn that one the hard way. Rule for the wise kid: don’t stick your finger in a hamster’s face.

---

“Shepard.”

“Grunt… hello there.”

Ok… he’d bite. Who brought Grunt up?

Honestly, Alistair was more than a little confused right then. He had expected once they got back to the shuttle that he and the young krogan wouldn’t see much of each other. After all, he was pretty sure he bored Grunt – except for that first time with the gun. Yet there he was, standing in the entrance to his quarters, looking rather uncomfortable.

Was he being punked?

“Still in the elevator, Grunt.”

Bo’s voice called from over his shoulder. Much like a good son would, he shuffled to the side to allow her entrance. Even as large as she was, she was a little on the small side compared to the krogan. That didn’t matter of course – she was well versed in taking them down. It was why she had gone 25-0 in the ring back on Omega.

Well, at least that answered who let him up. Still didn’t answer anything else, mind you. Alistair was left watching as Bo sidled past her son and entered into his quarters. Luckily for him, his sister was direct: whatever was on her mind, he’d hear about it soon enough.

She looked around the room for a second. “Surprised Mandibles isn’t up here. Aren’t you two planning to- “

“He had calibrations to run.” Alistair’s cheeks flushed as he rushed to cut her off. Grunt snickered behind her – asshole. “Anyway, what’s brought you two up here? Everything alright after Tuchanka?”

Nothing like a krogan puberty ritual to get the blood pumping after all. Alistair was going to be having nightmares about that thresher maw for weeks, and that was if he was lucky. On the bright side, he was pretty sure it counted as exposure therapy. That was fine by him; he hadn’t done his therapy homework yet and with his workload he doubted it would happen at all. His therapist was understanding, but she was also a stickler. At least he had something to turn in the next time he saw her.

Much to his surprise, Grunt looked uncomfortable. He shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting around. Dare he say it, but to him he almost looked embarrassed. Apparently, krogan could do that as well as anyone else.

“I could have just looked on the extranet, Shepard…”

Bo shook her head, clearly amused by this. “What’s better than a real-world example? You asked about him anyway.”

She turned back to Alistair. “Grunt wanted to meet Saren after hearing you talk so much about him. Is the little guy awake or do we have to come back later?”

…

“You want to meet Saren?”

His gaze slid from the embarrassed krogan teenager to the wall on the far left. Even before he looked, Alistair had known. He knew the sound of bedding shifting anywhere, practically heard it in his sleep. That alone made him get up and take the trip to what at one time had been an aquarium.

Good thing for him he hated fish – it was perfect to make a hamster enclosure out of.

The theme that month was jungle. Among the scattered green bedding and wood chews, he found a little ball of white sitting next to his food dish, digging through the contents. At the sound of his footsteps, two red eyes focused straight on him, and some food went right into well-adapted cheek pouches.

Saren was a practical hamster like that.

“Hey, little guy.” Alistair smiled as he opened the enclosure and put his hands flat. A few moments later, the hamster was climbing up to rest between his palms, just like they had trained to do. Then he was out, held close as the Spectre returned to his desk. “Someone wants to meet you if that’s ok.”

Saren of course didn’t answer – much as breeding had improved, sentience wasn’t on the list of traits – but his eyes were bright and he seemed calm enough as he sat there, chewing at a seed from his pouch. These were good hamster introduction traits, especially considering who the interested party was.

Grunt didn’t look too impressed though. He gave the hamster a rather blunt look, then glanced over at Bo. When he didn’t get the reaction, he might have been hoping for, it went from pink to red Shepard.

Talk about being in the hot seat.

“Is it supposed to be so small?”

Alistair chuckled as he stroked Saren’s tiny head with his thumb. “Well, the European wild varieties back on earth are much bigger, but they max out at about a foot long. Saren’s a Syrian male, so he’s a fairly decent size all things considered.”

Grunt probably didn’t care about most of that – it wasn’t exactly new. However, his eyes never left the hamster. Saren either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care; he was too busy on chewing away at his seed to pay attention to the krogan. It was a feeling Alistair knew well.

He loved the little guy, but sometimes he ran hot and cold with affection.

“If you want to see him up close, come over slowly. Hamsters are prey animals, so he’s easily spooked.”

Much to his surprise, Grunt listened. He approached the desk slowly, eyes never leaving the small ball of fur in his commanding officer’s hands. He was interested, even if he wasn’t showing it on his face. No surprises there – kids loved hamsters, didn’t matter the species or the fact they were born fully grown and ready to kill. They just did.

“Why did you name it Saren?”

Now Alistair was chuckling again as he watched the hamster continue to chew. “You’re going to have to ask Bo about that, she’s the one who got him for me.”

Bo’s answer came quickly as she observed the introduction. “They said he was a biter and ate a cage mate. Made me think of the real Saren.”

Well, made sense he supposed…

“They eat each other?” Grunt’s tone was definitely more interested with that. Now they were getting somewhere. “That means they fight.”

Alistair nodded as he made sure Saren stayed in his hands. “Yep. They’re fiercely territorial. It’s why you have to house them separately. Hamsters kept together can fight, sometimes to the death even. This little guy had some healed scars when I got him, so he’s been through it. I guess Omega and the Citadel gift shop share husbandry tendencies…”

His voice trailed off. Grunt hadn’t taken his eyes off Saren the entire time he had been talking. There was curiosity there and a raw interest. That made the Spectre smile as he slowly brought his hands within range, eyeing his hamster’s body language the entire time.

“You can say hello if you want, he’s pretty calm right now.”

To his credit, the krogan didn’t retreat. However, there was some definite anxiety there. He briefly glanced back at Bo, and then he returned to keeping his eyes on Saren. Finally, he managed a brief nod and came a little closer.

“Do I just stick my hand out?” A finger got a little too close to Saren. Before Alistair could warn him, the hamster eyed it and did what he always did when someone got into his space without proper caused. Tiny teeth were soon chomped down hard in the classic signs of hamster bite.

It probably wouldn’t hurt a krogan, mind you. They were tough.

“Grunt, don’t pull your hand away. He’ll go with you and he’ll fall.”

The krogan shot Saren a dirty look as he watched the hamster bite down. “That does nothing to me, rodent.”

Saren, naturally, didn’t care. Alistair’s hands were part of his territory. More importantly, Grunt was big and round. Honestly, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the hamster thought he was an overgrown member of his species. Add a little fur, and he could honestly see it. He’d never say that of course – Wrex would hate it.

“He’s just defending what’s his. All he has is his teeth.” Alistair kept his voice level as he gently rubbed the hamster’s head with his thumb. “Come on, buddy, he’s not going to hurt you. You can let go now.”

After a few more moments, Saren let go. He went back to his abandoned seed, but his eyes never left the krogan. Grunt was in a similar mood, eyeing up the hamster with a rather brutal gaze. At least he had the good sense to take his hand back, the offended digit tucked away.

Bo’s voice carried over the chaos. “So… what did you learn, Grunt?”

“Don’t stick my finger in an animal’s face…”

There was a definite sulk to his tone. It was strangely cute, in a weird sort of way. Meanwhile, Alistair was just glad he hadn’t pulled back. Saren may have trusted him, but he would’ve gone for a ride. Then he would’ve had to eject Grunt out the airlock if anything happened.

Was he biased towards his hamster? Absolutely.

“It’s his way of making sure his space is safe. I used to get bit a lot when we were establishing ground rules.” He stood, crossing the room to return Saren to his enclosure in case he was overwhelmed. Much to his surprise, Saren didn’t burrow under the substrate as he often did to hide his food. Instead, he stayed on top, eyeing Grunt. “Huh… how about that.”

Grunt gave Saren the exact same look. “Your hamster’s hungry for battle.”

In another surprise, the krogan smirked. “Shepard was right, Saren is appropriate for a warship.”

Well… there was a stamp of approval he hadn’t seen coming. Maybe pigs would start flying…

Alistair at least managed a nod. “He’s territorial, it’s part of the breed.”

“Don’t sell the little guy short, he took a krogan on full force.” Bo was definitely amused as she surveyed Grunt’s finger. There was a definite scuff there – Saren had left his mark. “Damn, little guy bit down hard. The hell are you feeding him, concrete?”

Oh… just lab block, some seeds, extra protein if the mix didn’t come up right…

“He’s got a nasty bite; I’ll give him that.” And he was also done with the room – Saren was soon digging back under the substrate. “He’ll be out for a while; he has food to hide and some sleep to catch up on.”

His gaze found Grunt soon after. “Well, I hope he lived up to your expectations. If you want to come visit again, just let me know.”

“As long as you don’t try to convert him to the gospel of hamster.”

He made no promises there. Anyone who could be swayed, he would sway. That’s what it meant to have a hamster as cute as Saren.

Still, at least Grunt didn’t seem too upset about the bite as he nodded. Maybe it had taught him not to fuck with small animals -a win in his book. At any rate, it felt as though things were ending.

“I might.” And then he was heading to the door. Soon he was gone, leaving Bo and Alistair alone. As soon as he was out of hearing range, the larger of the two Shepards slumped down on his cough, doing her best not to laugh.

She did alright, but he failed miserably.

“God, that was fucking adorable.” Alistair wiped a tear from his eye as he chuckled. “I mean, apart from when I thought Grunt was going to toss my hamster.”

Bo nodded, snickering a little. “Yeah, he’s been wanting to come up for a while but he couldn’t figure out how to ask you. I agreed to be a buffer after it took him a half hour to spit it out. You might have just converted him to the dark side.”

Apparently, he was a sith now. Just because his face glowed red…

But still. Alistair nodded as he glanced back at the enclosure. He could see Saren’s tail from a gap in the bedding – he was pressed against the glass, no doubt making himself comfortable for a long nap. He’d had a long day after all – he’d just taken on a krogan.

“I think if he’s a little slower next time, they’ll get along just fine. Maybe I’ll give him a couple seeds to try.”

Baby steps, after all. Rome wasn’t built in a day and becoming friends with a hamster was just as detailed and complex. If Grunt put the effort in, he could see them getting along great. Hell, he might even get a new Saren sitter out of it.

He needed one of those. His normal ones went on missions went with him half the time.

“Thanks for letting him try. I knew Saren would be tough enough to handle him, little dude’s from Omega after all.”

Terminus system, born and bred – it was in his DNA. He’d never be as sweet as some hamsters, but that was part of his charm. It made their moments together even more special in his mind, honestly. He’d managed to get an Omega resident to let him pet him – that was a win in his book.

“Just let me know the next time he wants to come up.” Alistair returned to his desk – he still had work to do. “Now, unless you want to work on these reports…”

And just like that, he was alone as Bo beat a quick retreat out the door. He shook his head, chuckling once more as he went back to his reports. Still, he kept an eye on the glass enclosure across from him. Somewhere inside, the toughest hamster Omega ever bred was enjoying his rest. Maybe he was dreaming of fighting krogan, who knew?

One thing was for sure – they had definitely started on Grunt’s conversion to the dark side. Excellent. He had wanted an apprentice one day.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Tick Tick Tick

Jason ‘J.D.’ Dean x Reader

Words: 2552

Part One of Two

Summary: After killing your perverted ex boyfriend, you finally learn to accept the dark feelings inside you. J.D. copes with real feelings as you pull him out of the numbnesses of his life. 

Notes: This imagine is not for the faint of heart guys. It’s gonna be dark and the reader is not going to be a good person. Murder is going to be depicted as an accepted part of her life and she is going to like it. Both parts of this imagine will be dark and bloody. I mean, it’s J.D. from Heathers. That’s the point. So please please please, if you are uncomfortable, just skip this. It won’t be for everybody.

Warnings: Murder (duh), sex (not smut, but definitly more than I’ve ever done before), language, the whole shabang. 

-

He was dead. Holy shit, he was actually dead. As far as the rest of the town was concerned, Tommy killed himself with a handgun. He’d rather die than spend a single day in prison for molestation and child porn- all of course he ‘admitted’ in his suicide note. Half of his brain was splatter against the concrete outside the football stadium. The other half covered your face. 

You could honestly say that you hadn’t expected to kill your ex boyfriend. But you couldn’t exactly say that you regretted it. Hell, you couldn’t get the grin off your face. You looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Ew. You looked like shit. Not only were you covered in blood, sweat matted your hair down from running through the parking lot. You’d also have a bruise from where Tommy slapped you, but you didn’t care. He’d never touch you again. He’d never touch anybody again. You had to bite your lip to keep your smile from growing even more, tasting just a tiny bit of blood on your tongue. 

You stripped out of your clothes that you would probably be burning later and stepped into the shower. You turned the heat up until it was scalding. You listened to the water thunder against your skull, massaging the brain matter out of your hair. You didn’t hear the creaking bathroom door open or the click of it closing again. With your eyes closed, you didn’t see the shadow of the figure lurking on the other side of the curtain. You didn’t open them until you heard the curtain being pushed to the side. 

You felt your heart start to pound. His green eyes scanned you hungrily as he stepped into the shower, his t-shirt quickly adhering to his chest. Your breathing hitched, his finger tracing your jawline while his other hand snaked behind your back. You pushed down the nervous feelings stirring in your stomach and lifted your chin to confidently meet his gaze. J.D. smirked. 

“Hi.” He greeted, his hand slowly making its way up your spine. You didn’t waste a second before pulling his bottom lip between your teeth. J.D., spurred by your enthusiasm, pulled you closer, one hand on the small of your back and the other cupping the back of your head. You pulled apart just enough to peel his soaked t-shirt off his chest, raking your fingers down his torso. Before long, his clothes were discarded beside yours on the floor. 

With your bodies pressed together, you could forget about everything. Tommy, your piece-of-shit house occupied by your piece-of-shit mother, and that fucking school that Tommy and his band of rapists disguised as the football team used to rule. With J.D. kissing you, you held the world in your hands. With J.D. fucking you, you threw the world into oblivion. 

A couple rounds in the shower lead to a couple rounds in his bed before you finally settled with a post-sex cigarette. With his arms wrapped around you, you took the cigarette from his lips and brought it to yours. He watched you blow out a puff of smoke, watching the grey haze linger in the air for just a moment before vanishing. 

That was his life. Briefly existing in a dark cloud of smoke before scattering into nothing. Smoke didn’t feel. It blinded and it choked and it only came when something was burned. Everything he touched went up in flames and he was all that was left behind. He knew that whatever the hell this was would end the same way. And that gave him a weird, stirring feeling in his chest. Shit. 

“Do you think they’ve found him yet?” You asked, flipping onto your stomach so you didn’t have to strain your neck to look at him. He shrugged, plucking the cigarette from your mouth and taking a drag. 

“It’ll be the talk of the town tomorrow, that’s for sure.” He clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes at you, trying to read your expression. If there is one thing the six high schools he’d gone to taught him, it was how to read people. “Do you regret it?” You almost laughed. 

“Are you kidding?” He raised a brow to tell you he wasn’t. You kept your eyes on his and kissed a freckled on his shoulder. “No. I don’t regret ridding the world of that sad excuse for a human. Besides,” You traced circles around the spot you kissed. “It was, like, self-defense anyway, right? Who knows what that asshole would have done if you didn’t blow his brains out?” 

The original plan was to knock him out and drive his car off a cliff. You lured him out by telling him you wanted to get back together with a little blowjob under the bleachers. When Tommy figured out he would be getting off, he got pissed and slapped you. That's when J.D. jumped out from his hiding spot and Tommy turned around to get a bullet between the eyes. 

“The only thing I regret is not pulling the trigger myself.” After everything that pig put you through, you would have loved to be the one to send him to hell. J.D. ran a hand from your thigh to the nape of your neck, the motion sending chills across your skin in its wake. You closed your eyes and laid your head against his shoulder. 

There it was again. That feeling in his chest that almost made it hard to breathe. What the fuck? Something was tearing through the numbness, making him feel shit that he hasn’t felt since, well, ever. He didn’t feel things. Feeling shit meant he was tied down to something or someone and that was never part of the plan. 

He sat up suddenly, letting your head fall onto the pillows. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked over to his dresser for a t-shirt and some flannel. After he got dressed, he clapped his hands together and faced you with his usual smug smile. 

“Who knew the combination of murder and fucking could work up such an apetite, but I, for one, am starving.” He grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt, tossing them at you. 

“What are these for?” He rolled his eyes. 

“Well, darling, we can’t have you wondering town in my bed sheets.” His little term of endearment was said with sarcasm, it still made you smile. You stood, letting the sheet fall around your feet. J.D. bit his lip, starting to regret his hurry to leave. You smirked and pulled his shirt over your head. It was a little big so you tucked it into the jeans and found a belt. J.D. tried to ignore how fucking good you looked in his clothes, but he couldn’t help it. He pulled you to him by the belt loops and caught your lips in his. 

“Slushies on me?” You offered, walking your fingers up his chest. He chuckled and nodded.

“Our love is god.” 

-

You didn’t know it was possible to feel like this. If what you felt for Tommy was a spark then this was a wildfire. After grabbing a bite to eat, you went back to his place to burn your clothes, watching the blood stained fabric shrivel into ash. J.D. dropped you off at your house on his motorcycle. It was almost midnight but you knew you wouldn’t be getting any sleep. You stopped at the fridge to grab a bottle of cola among the endless cases of beers. 

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Your mother stood in the doorway with a joint dangling from her lips and a half-empty bottle in her hand. You rolled your eyes. 

“Why the hell do you care?” She laughed, tossing the butt in your direction. You had to jerk away to keep from being burned. 

“You and I are the same, kid.” She took her lighter out of her pocket and flipped it open and shut. 

“Fuck you.” You scoffed, moving towards the stairs. Her hand latched onto your arm. 

“He’s gonna leave you just like your daddy left me, sweetheart and do you know why?” She shoved you against the wall, keeping an arm on your neck while her other hand brought the lighter up to your face. ���Because you are a pathetic whore.”  

“Get the hell off of me!” You shrieked, trying to break away. Her arm started to press against your windpipe, making it harder to breathe. 

“Say it.” She spat, flicking the lighter on. The flame danced menacingly, inching closer and closer to your left eye. You stared at her with as much malice as you could. “Fucking say it!” 

“Go to hell.” She clicked the fire off and pressed the burning metal against the skin of your shoulder. You tried to hold back your scream, but you couldn’t help it. Your mother brought the flame back up to your eye, slamming your head against the wall again. 

“Say it!” The heat made your eyes sting, already watering from the searing pain in your shoulder. You leaned towards it. 

“I’m a pathetic whore.” You submitted, gritting your teeth. 

And just like that, she dropped her arm and walked into the living room like nothing had happened. You broke into a sprint, running up to the upstairs bathroom and hurling up the french fries and coke slushie you had less than an hour ago. Your shoulder was screaming at you, the smell of burned flesh stinging your nose. You felt empty and stupid and worthless. Most of all, you felt weak. You felt the tears stream down your cheeks before you could even think to stop them. You collapsed onto your bed, screaming as your shoulder hit the mattress. 

J.D. carefully climbed in your window, silently moving in front of your bed. The gun felt heavier in his hand than it did before. He had to do this. You were breaking through the ice that kept him numb and he couldn’t let that happen. But as he raised his weapon to fire, he heard your sob, muffled by a pillow, but still loud enough to send his mind reeling. There was that damn feeling in his chest again. The feeling that wanted to hold you and never let go, taking down anybody who stood in his way. This couldn’t be what love was. Another cry filled the room and he turned the safety of the pistol back on and tucked it in his waistband. You heard a strange click and looked up. 

“J.D.?” You wondered, seeing his figure looming over you.  Please, not now. He couldn’t see you like this. Pathetic. Just like she said you were. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I wanted my clothes back.” He lied. He didn’t give a shit whether or not you kept them. In fact, he thought it would be fitting. Watching your blood stain his shirt. Come on, just kill her. 

“Oh, right.” You felt your body shrink a little as you slid off of the bed, walking towards your dresser. “Just let me grab something to change into.” You hoped that in the dark room, he couldn’t see the tears on your face. As you brushed passed him, J.D. grabbed your arm, making you cry out as your shoulder jerked back. He roughly pulled you back to him and examined the hole singed into his shirt and the bloody and blackened skin underneath. “I’m sorry about the shirt, I-”

“Did that bitch do this?” He snapped. Seeing your eyes filled with tears set something off inside him. A feeling that was familiar to him. Rage. 

“J.D. it’s fine, I can handle her.” You couldn’t let him think you were weak. His jaw clenched and he stormed out of your room, his booming footsteps thundering down the stairs. You quickly followed, figuring he was just running out after seeing how fragile and pitiful you were. 

Luckily, your mother was fully passed out on the couch so J.D. wouldn’t have to deal with her intoxicated criticism. Instead of running for the door, he stopped in front of her, pacing back and forth. He had hoped she would be awake. He wanted to see her face as she paid for what she did to you. But he would just have to settle for this. 

He rummaged through the drawers until her found her stash of heroin and a syringe. He filled it as much as he could.

“J.D., what are you doing?” You asked, watching him hold out her arm.

“It’ll look like an accident, right? An overdose.” The needle punctured her skin and he injected the drugs into your mother’s bloodstream. She stirred slightly so you had to act fast. You grabbed a pillow from the couch and put it over her face, holding it there firmly until she stopped moving. And just like that, your mother was dead. Similar to the feeling you had when J.D. shot Tommy, any weakness you felt was gone, replaced by pure power. 

“She’s dead.” You gasped. J.D. couldn’t read your expression. Were you upset? 

“Look, I know that there’s that whole mother/daughter bond thing, but-”

“She’s finally dead.” You laughed, throwing your arms around him. You’d been waiting your whole life to be free of her and now you finally were. “We can get out of here. Run away. Together.” You ran back upstairs to your room to grab a bag. J.D. followed hesitantly. Hearing you say you wanted to run away with him brought back that stupid grip around his chest, squeezing and suffocating until he faced what he feared. 

“Y/N, I need to tell you something.” He said softly. You paused. You’d never heard him talk like that before. Almost like he was… nervous. You wrapped your arms around his waist and gave him a smile. 

“What’s gotten into-” You froze, your hands brushing against the cold metal tucked into his jeans. You lifted the gun into your hand and backed away. “Why did you bring this?” The look in his eyes told you before any words left his mouth. Then you remembered. The click right before you saw him. It was a fucking gun. You scoffed. “You came here to kill me, didn’t you?” 

“Y/N-”

“No, no. Don’t let me stop you.” You put the pistol in his hand and wrapped his finger around the trigger. You sat on the edge of the bed and aimed his arm up at your face. “Do it. You’re afraid that you feel something for me. I saw it when we were in your room. So go ahead, J.D.” You leaned forward so that your forehead was touching the barrel. “Do it.” 

There it was. The aching in his chest. The reason he came here to shoot you. Your eyes stared into his and he decided that he wasn’t going to be afraid of this anymore. He controlled it. He tossed the gun aside and crashed his lips into yours, climbing on top of you and lifted his t-shirt over your head. Is this what love was? 

Who the fuck knows?

-

Christian Slater Tag list: @staxryskxes; @adeliness​

[votederpycausemufins]

i recovered from having less than two hours of sleep by having 11ish hours of sleep! wow i’m so healthy with those sleep habits!

@petrichormeraki

When Grian called Mumbo over to his old hobbit hole, Mumbo didn’t know what to expect. Maybe he wanted to change the rail system or needed help with his villagers. Mumbo didn’t expect the mystery member to be there. “Is this Tommy?”

Grian nodded. “He’s been staying here. He said I could bring you to meet him.”

Mumbo didn’t think the expression Tommy wore really agreed with the statement Grian made. The boy looked like the moment there was an unexpected noise, he would bolt. The sword in his hand made it also seem like a fight would happen. But it wasn’t even an iron sword. It was merely stone. “Um, hello there. My name is Mumbo. Of course you’re Tommy.” In nervousness, Mumbo went to straighten his tie, but Tommy just shifted his position, looking ready to strike.

Mumbo wanted to ask why Grian hadn’t offered any clothes, but he was sure the builder would have. Still, Mumbo couldn’t wrap his head around why this boy would continue to wear rags. There were tears all over his shirt and pants and he only wore one shoe. Deep bags were under dull blue eyes that looked at Mumbo warrily.

Mumbo tried once more to speak to Tommy, but it managed to spook him and he bolted. The redstoner was left feeling downtrodden, but Grian comforted him. “Hey, you met him at the very least, and he lasted longer around you than when I first found him.” That got a small smile from Mumbo as he was cheered up, even if it was just a little.

Mumbo was reminded of the first time he saw Tommy when looking at him now. Same torn clothes. Same missing shoe. Same defensive stance. Even the bags under his eyes seemed the same, but the eyes themselves did not.

“Tommy.”

“Oh yeah, add that on the list. How the fuck do you know my name?”

Mumbo cringed. He forgot Tommy had been this crude in the past. He held up his hands in surrender. “My name is Mumbo. I sort of just wandered over here. There was a portal, but it got broken.”

“What, you get banned from the nether too?”

“What? No! Tommy, did you?”

“Still haven’t answered how you know my name.”

Mumbo couldn’t just say ‘oh we’ve been friends for a while, you’ve just got amnesia.’ or ‘oh I think I’m from the future’ or something. But there was one thing that was true. He learned Tommy’s name from Grian. “One of your brothers told me.”

Tommy scoffed. “Ghostbur. Where’s he been all this time?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” He wasn’t. He hadn’t even known Wilbur as anything but alive so far.

“Dream said I’m not supposed to have anyone here. So you should be leaving.” 

Mumbo rubbed the back of his head. “Well, I’m not completely sure I’m in the best standing with Dream either. And you’re…” What had he said? Banished? Exiled a voice supplied. “Exiled, and I sort of am too. Makes sense we stay here together.”

Tommy stared at Mumbo with squinted eyes before he finally stopped holding his weapon up and Mumbo breathed out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding in.

“You could even have this place if you want. At this point I give up here. Might as well just run off where Dream can’t find me.”

“Do… do you mind if I come with?” Mumbo asked, Tommy glancing at him from the side.

“Fine, as long as you’re not planning to fuck everything up Mumbitch.”

Mumbo held his tongue. He’s never heard that before. But he supposed it made sense with the current situation. Tommy started walking and Mumbo followed behind. They walked, nearing a village on the edge of a dark oak forest. Tommy killed a pig and started to eat the raw mean, but Mumbo stopped him, handing him five golden carrots. He would have given more, but he wasn’t sure if the surplus would frighten Tommy or put him on edge. Even with the small amount, the blond looked suspicious before he finally took them to eat.

They then started collecting wheat and hay bales from the village before continuing on, reaching some snowy plains. The sun was starting to rise and then in the distance Mumbo could see a house. “Is that your place?” Mumbo asked, making Tommy shake his head.

“No, it’s my brother’s. Wilbur found it and told me where it is. I figure he’ll have gear we can use.”

Mumbo was glad Tommy had someone to rely on until they actually reached the house and Tommy started rifling through the chests, grabbing whatever he wanted. “Are you sure your brother is okay with this?” Mumbo asked and Tommy laughed.

“Oh definitely not. That’s why we’ll need to hide under the floorboards if we want more.”

Mumbo was left stunned while Tommy started to dig, making a small room under the house. It had barely enough room for the essentials and ended up only half decorated with yellow concrete. Mumbo cringed a little at a sign put up that read ‘no pussies allowed’. The final touch Tommy made was making a secondary, even smaller room where he placed a log and a bell. “Yeah! Prime log!” And he started hitting the bell.

Mumbo rushed to grab Tommy’s hand. Tommy tried to wrestle it back, but his days in exile had left him weakened. Mumbo looked up at the ceiling, expecting to hear something from above, but when he didn’t, the redstoner sighed and let Tommy go.

Mumbo wanted to work when Tommy was asleep, but he refused to in the now unfamiliar presence of the hermit. So instead Mumbo placed a few blocks between them and got to work. The only way in and out right now was from just digging holes. Sure, it could be effective, the simplest of simple secret entrances, but it could be better. 

When Tommy saw the new entrances Mumbo made, he was stunned by it. “So it can just open and close by itself?”

“Well no. You still need to break the block, but it cycles in a new block a few seconds afterward so you don’t need to waste time putting down a new block. Based on our limited space and not wanting to alter his interior too much, there wasn’t much I could do. I mean, it’s a far cry from Keralis’ base.”

“Who?” Tommy tilted his head.

“Uh, friend of mine. Made a home that was easy to hide in. Anyway, again due to limitations, there’s not an infinite amount of blocks in the rotation, but I doubt we would use them all up in one go, so once we’re down here, we can replace them.” Mumbo pointed to where that would be.”

“That’s pretty pog.”

Mumbo was drifting off to sleep when he heard Tommy talking to someone. He couldn’t quite hear the other end of the conversation, but by the tone of Tommy’s voice, it didn’t sound that bad. Until he then heard Tommy suddenly get quiet. Straining his ears, he could hear Tommy whisper shouting. “I have to go! Sorry, sorry! Bye bye bye bye bye! Tommy hole Tommy hole!”

Mumbo didn’t know what to do and ended up just frozen in place, listening. “Uh, ‘ow do?” Then quiet. “Hey take a picture! It’ll last longer! Ay!” That sounded like Tommy antagonizing whoever was there. There was another pause before Tommy spoke once more in a more calm and level tone. “You look ugly.”

“What are you doing in my house Tommy?” Immediately came the response. Mumbo recognized the gruff voice. That had been one of the people to visit Grian. One of his brothers. Oh why couldn’t he remember their name? He was greeted by voices telling him it was Techno before he pushed them away again.

“How are you?”

“What are you doing in my house Tommy?”

“How are you?”

“What are you doing in my house Tommy?!”

“You are a bitch! That’s the way to lightly put it.” A moment later there was the sound of fist meeting skin and Tommy was yelling, finally making Mumbo jump up. But right away it was sounding calm again. “You can’t kill me so stop trying to act so big and hard, alright?” 

“I actually really can kill you!”

“Well I have!” “You’re just taking my items!” Well I have!” “That’s not what you have, that’s what I have.” “Yeah bitch, I have fire!” “No wait my house is made out of wood!”

Mumbo got ready to go out there and fight, but before he could, Tommy was climbing down into the room. Above, he could hear Techno yelling about a zombie getting into his villagers. “Tommy, are you alright?” Mumbo asked in a hushed tone. 

He didn’t get a response as he immediately clamped a hand on Tommy’s mouth when digging started right above them. Don’t dig down, Mumbo thought. He hoped that Techno would test some blocks and then give up. “What the heck is this?” Too late.

After a moment of hesitation, Techno started coming down the ladder, but the redstone clock finished its timer and a block was pushed into the warrior, starting to suffocate him. “What the?! Tommy!”

Mumbo pulled Tommy behind him. He may not be the best fighter, but he wasn’t going to let Tommy get hurt. Another block was broken and then Techno came the rest of the way down into their room. “What the hell was that Tom-” Techno started to speak before he saw Mumbo. “Who are you?”

“Not important. Don’t you dare try hurting Tommy or you’ll regret it.” Mumbo tried to stand firm, not show any weakness, but he was failing horribly at it.

“What are you two doing in my house?” Techno half growled. He shifted his helmet and Mumbo froze. His eyes were the exact same color as Tommy’s were.

“Hey, this place right here is our house bitch!” Tommy said over Mumbo’s shoulder. “Besides, read the sign bruv, no pussies allowed!”

Techno paused, then pointed to Mumbo. “Then why is he in here?”

“Hey, no talking to my man Mumbo Jumboli like that.”

“Ugh, how long has this been down here?!”

“Well you see there was this guy called Dream and we’ve got this sort of love hate relationship, like Sam and Juliet from the hit show Friends and basically what happened, Technoblade, was uhhh I need my discs back.”

There was a beat of silence before the piglin hybrid spoke. “That was not a good summary at all! Why are you two living underneath my house like raccoons?!”

“Hey!” Mumbo exclaimed, offended by the statement. “I am not some raccoon. Secret bases means you’re just a sewer… related… mole perso- yes I will actually accept being called a racoon.”

Techno raised an eyebrow at Mumbo. “So, who are you? And why are you helping Tommy?”

Mumbo couldn’t easily look Techno in the eyes. “Well you see… I sort of ended up coming through a portal, which got broken. I’m a little stuck and I found Tommy and thought I could help him.”

“Help him get his discs back?”

“I have no idea what he means by that.” Mumbo answered honestly. That hadn’t been brought up while they were walking, so it must be something new. Nevermind, he was now being told it had been mentioned but he wasn’t paying attention like a spoon. 

“What, but I talked about it almost the whole way here!” Tommy interjected, making Mumbo nod.

“Yes, I was just told such. I just hadn’t been paying attention. Gathering resources seemed like the best option at the time.”

“And you used that to get redstone?” Techno asked, looking back up the ladder.

“Well no, I just had it on me.”

“You just had redstone materials on you for that?” Mumbo nodded in response to the question. “Why bother?”

“It’s what I had! Had I known I would get stuck, I may have brought less, but it’s still very useful.”

“Sure it- Hey Tommy, where’d you get that golden apple?!” Mumbo looked to where Techno’s eyes had fallen and saw Tommy eating a gold apple.

“Tommy! I told you you are not supposed to be eating that many!” 

“But I like the absorption hearts!”

“And that’s exactly why you aren’t supposed to have that many. You’ll get too used to the extra health.”

“Tommy, give me the apples.” Mumbo held out a hand and was surprised how easily they were given to him.

“And those are my apples.” Techno then spoke, grabbing the apples out of Mumbo’s hand.

“Here, Techno. Tommy was put in a bad situation. He came to you as his brother because he sees you as something safe. Or at least safer than what he just left. I wouldn’t be letting him have any of your apples, but he really needs the health benefits and potions are more tedious to keep supplied. I promise we won’t be much of a bother as long as you let us stay.”

Surprisingly, though it was after some hesitation, Techno agreed.

Tommy was chatting to Techno through his communicator when they got warning of Dream coming to visit. Tommy started to panic as Mumbo attempted to calm him down. When Techno walked in, a potion of invisibility was splashed at their feet by Tommy, hitting all of them. Techno fortunately was able to get some milk from the cow in his basement, but the enderman living in his house couldn’t do the same, leaving just the floating block it held.

Techno helped Tommy into a box to hide while Mumbo placed an armor stand down and stood just behind it. It wasn’t the best hiding place, but hopefully it would do well enough, especially after some junk gear was placed on it by Techno.

Mumbo held his breath when Dream noticed particles left by the magic energy of the potion as he stood next to the box, but Techno was able to play it off, mentioning the Stray outside and how one had hit Dream with an arrow. The masked man seemed to buy it as he continued to look around.

“Alright, well there’s a bit of a problem. Tommy left.”

“Tommy?” Mumbo had to hold his hand down so he wouldn’t slap himself at Techno’s question. “Oh right, Tommy. Yeah that guy. He got exiled. That was pretty funny.”

Dream asked to look around again and started checking the different floors. It was perfect timing as well as the splash potion ran out and Mumbo quickly had to supply him and Tommy with another. They started to read a list that Mumbo had heard before and he went down to peek at what was going on, only to see signs on a wall of Tommy’s to-do list. Fortunately nothing directly said Tommy’s name on it, but it likely did read like his writing. 

Mumbo heard Tommy start to eat from above, his eyes widening at the fact that he would do something so reckless. He rushed up and stole the food from Tommy and placed it in the boat with the enderman. Dream and Techno arrived only a second later and Dream made a comment about not knowing endermen ate, to which Techno replied with something about someone named Ranboo.

Techno was able to distract Dream with one last thing, ringing a bell above them to the point that Mumbo’s head was left ringing. But then the masked man left. Mumbo watched through a window as Dream glanced at one thing that couldn’t be hidden. A tower nearby that reached up into the sky. It was made of cobble and stone bricks and andesite. It had a lovely spiral staircase so someone could get up to the top and a few wood accents.

Dream stared at it. Had Techno built this? If so why? It might have been Tommy, but that wasn’t his style. Did anyone else know where Techno was and could build something like that? He couldn’t think of anyone. Dream tried not to feel perplexed as he left.

Mumbo also looked at the tower. It was all too obvious who had built it. That was Tommy’s style. Too much cobble with just enough accents to make it look good. Dream likely knew and might come back.

“You two are still invisible. I expected it to wear off by now.”

“I used another while you kept Dream busy. Made sure it didn’t hit your pe- er, roommate.”

“Well, hopefully that was enough to convince him Tommy’s not here.”

“Are you kidding? It’s blatantly obvious. Look at the tower out there.” Mumbo gestured, forgetting he couldn’t be seen, then putting his armor on to make it a little more obvious.

“That thing? That’s probably what’s keeping Tommy safe the most. Doesn’t look like anything he’s made other than the height.”

“What?” Mumbo asked, sounded half exasperated by the claim. “No that’s just how he builds!”

“Do you think I built Logstedshire? That was almost all Wilbur.”

“I wasn’t talking about that! I was talking about-” Then Mumbo remembered. Remembered that they didn’t.

“Talking about what?”

Mumbo wasn’t sure how to tell then, so in a moment of spoonly panic, he blurted out five words. “I’m dating your blood god.”

All was silent for about ten full seconds before Mumbo was being pressed against the wall. “What the hell would you know about the Blood God?”

Mumbo tried to speak, but it was hard as most of the pressure keeping him against the wall was near his throat. “N-name w’s Zlquh… p-parit ‘vian. Tr-triplit.” He gasped for air as he was dropped.

“Where’s Xelqua?”

Though he was still gasping for air, Mumbo managed to answer. “D-Dream has him…”

Zloy looked up as Gxrgeous and Pixlriffs walked in. “I’m hoping you’ve got good news?”

“Far from it actually.” Pixlriffs spoke before Gxrgeous started yelling.

“I can’t see a fucking thing. It has to be fucking vault gods. That world is filled with people they could feed off of.”

Zloy sighed. “Gxrgeous, first of all, they have told us many times that it is not considered ‘feeding’. They’re just people who have an energy that they can interact with better. Second, is that really all there is?”

“Er, no.” Pixlriffs spoke up. “Just before she lost her ability to view in, she saw Grian and Mumbo end up going through the portal and it broke on our side of things.”

That made Zloy look up from the work he was doing. “That really is bad news. Gather as many watchers as you can to try and fix things with Gxrgeous’ world. The sooner we figure out what’s going on, the better.”

[holy-heck-i-love-my-fo]

I just needed to write a parkdam fic . TW for people being seriously harmed, having harm come their way, needles, stitching of body things that shouldn’t be stitched, gore, blood, guns, corpses, cursing, snot, and things that are painful. If anything there is something that bothers you, then don’t worry! :)! <3! Don’t feel obligated to read, and I have some fun stuff/an introduction to my Saw S/I that needs no trigger warnings coming out soon!!!

@gentle-horrors.

-----

When I was tossed into the room, I wasn’t sure what it was. I couldn’t see through the pig mask that they forced onto my head. I couldn’t speak due to the stitches through the skin around my lips that kept my mouth shut. The stitches felt suffocating, even though my nose was fine and unplugged. Plus, the pain that came with them was almost too much to bear. But there wasn’t any way that I could even try to lessen it. I’d tried, but my hands were firmly cuffed behind my back. The chains between the cuffs were so tight that I could barely move my hands.

I stretched out my fingers, happy that I could move those. It made me feel a little more in control. Which was good, seeing as my sense of sight, my ability to speak, and my ability to move my arms freely made me feel very out of control.

The only thing I had to feel relieved about was that the man who took me didn’t sew my eyes shut. He considered it, but eventually decided on just the mask when I begged and pleaded, tears streaming down my cheeks. Then he sprung it on me. He told me that I wouldn’t be able to beg for my life anymore as he took the needle and sewed my mouth shut. It was all it took not to scream in pain once the needle entered my skin, but I managed to avoid it, if only because I feared that it would pull at the stitches and make the sewing hurt more. Or that the man would hurt me for screaming. He was already testing me in a way. He showed no sympathy, but I could tell that he thought that he was morally superior to me. It was something in the way that he looked at me. Like he thought whatever I got was justified.

It disgusted me.

As I got my lips sewn shut, I was far more disgusted by the man in front of me than hurt by the pain of the stitches.

But when he cuffed my hands together, I started to hyperventilate. My body tried to instinctively breathe through my mouth, and I teared up at the pain of my lips trying to pull apart. As I was forced to breathe through my nose, the cold stung the inside as I quickly breathed in and out. I worried that I’d pass out. Then a mask was tossed onto me. A pig mask like that of the person who’d kidnapped me. I recognized it before he put it on me. But mine didn’t have eye holes or anything.

It turned out that I didn’t need to worry about passing out from my hyperventilation when a needle was shoved into me and something entered me that made me quickly pass out.

---

I woke up, my eyes fluttering. I went to smile, happy that it was just a dream. But then the stitches burned as I tried to, and I instinctively teared up. It was no dream. I was living a nightmare. My mouth was dry despite the fact that I hadn’t opened it. I wondered how long I’d been out. Long enough for the blood around my mouth to stop flowing, and dry. It could’ve been anywhere from a few hours to a few days. My stomach rumbled from hunger, which told me it had to be pretty long, since I’d eaten just a little bit before the man took me.

Whoever had their hands on me shoved me through a door, and I heard two voices start to shout at me.

“Hands up! I have a gun.” One shouted.

I had a feeling he was lying about the gun. Or he was very weak. Maybe he just really didn’t want to shoot. It was a guess because his voice shook when he said it.

“Sick fuck,” the other muttered, his voice still very audible. He knew I heard him, but he didn’t seem to care.

Then again, what did I know? I wasn’t a professional or anything. For all I knew, the first guy had a gun pointed straight at my head, and the second guy was trying to whisper.

I quickly bent over at my waist, swinging my arms as far up into the air as I could, so that they could see that I was as much a victim as they were.

“So you’re stuck, too,” the first voice said, sounding almost melancholic.

Did he want me to be a puppet master in this sick game? Or maybe he thought I could’ve released him.

“Talk,” the second voice said, blunt as could be.

I stayed silent, unable to speak.

“Tell us what you know,” the first voice said.

I wished I could’ve told them anything.

“Goddammit!” The first voice shouted, sounding like he slammed his fist down on something.

Something clicked in my head. I shouted as loud as I could with my mouth closed, letting them hear it muffled by my lips. It was something a lot of people had tried at least once. Making noises with their mouth closed. So I hoped it was recognizable.

It seemed to click to at least Guy 1, as he asked “What happened to your mouth?”.

“Well, Larry, it doesn’t seem much like whoever this is can exactly tell us.”

A slight laugh fell from my mouth, and my stitches hurt from smiling.

“Well how do you propose we fix it?” Guy 1- Larry- asked.

Guy 2 didn’t reply for a few minutes. I just stood there. I didn’t want to move, lest I step onto some broken glass or something. I had no idea what was in the room.

“Well maybe we should see what’s wrong first,” Guy 2 said. I felt like I was drawn more to him than Larry.

“Okay. Then let whoever this is come over to you. Inspect him.”

“Well you’re the doctor,” Guy 2 muttered.

“If this is a trap and someone needs first aid, I’ll need to be healthy to do it,” Larry said.

“Well you’re chained to a pipe, so I’m not sure how much help you’d be to someone across the room from you.”

“If this were a trap,” Larry said, “then maybe you wouldn’t want to tell the person who could be trapping us that we’re at a disadvantage.”

Guy 2 didn’t reply, presumably huffing over getting a talking to.

"Go over to Adam,” Larry said.

It put a name to Guy 2′s voice. Adam.

I nodded, but I wasn’t sure if they could even see it with the mask covering part of my neck.

Adam was quiet.

I paused for a second. If I could talk, I’d ask Larry and Adam how they expected me to go over to Adam if I had no clue as to where he was, and he wasn’t speaking.

“Well, say something,” Larry said, after an awkward pause.

I liked Larry. He thought like me. Plus, he was a doctor. I’d had some medical training myself, so I knew how tough it could be.

“Fine. I’m over here.” I followed Adam’s voice, walking forward first to make sure I wouldn’t slam into any walls.

Adam started shouting. “Wait! Make sure not to step on the-”

It was too late. I felt something squelch under my foot, and I instantly felt woozy.

“corpse.” He finished his sentence.

I teared up. I’d stepped on a corpse. There was a corpse in the room, and I’d stepped on it.

I tried to calm my head as it spun. I walked towards where I last heard Adam’s voice, walking much faster than before. I needed someone. It didn’t matter that I didn’t even know the guy. I’d stepped on a corpse.

I walked closer to where I’d last heard Adam’s voice, but I stumbled. And slipped on the blood on the bottom of my foot. Without my hands to catch me, I fell face first towards the hard concrete. I felt under my feet that it was concrete. I had a feeling that falling like that would put me in a state matching the guy who I stepped on. I hated that in my final moments, I was completely helpless.

Then I fell onto something softer than the ground. I wasn’t sure what it was at first, but then I felt breathing on the back of my neck.

I was pretty sure I fell onto Adam.

I felt my face flush, feeling like I’d made a bad impression on him already. And now I had my head buried in what was probably his shoulder.

I wanted to say sorry, but I couldn’t. My eyes widened, and I knew that I had bigger concerns than a bad first impression, but I couldn’t help but feel bad.

He didn’t say anything, choosing to instead take the pig mask off of me. My eyes stung under the fluorescent lights, even though they were pretty dim.

I got a good look at Adam’s face, and the stitches around my mouth burned as I weakly smiled at how he looked more concerned than annoyed. That was a good sign that he wasn’t mad at me.

“Shit...” he said, running his hand over the stitches.

“What is it?” Larry asked from across the room.

“His mouth is sewn shut,” Adam said, voice full of something that after a few moments, I recognized as horror.

I glanced over at Larry. There was a gun in the middle of the floor, but he didn’t have it. I guessed he was betting on me not having great eyesight, or maybe he saw that there were no eyeholes in my mask. Either way, if I were sent as a minion by the man, I probably would’ve seen that he didn’t have it.

Also in the middle of the floor was the corpse. His face was down, so I didn’t even know if I recognized him or not. And footprints from my bare feet in the blood. I teared up, then started to sob. But every time that I went to instinctively gasp, I couldn’t. I felt like I was choking.

Adam wrapped an arm around me, starting to pat my back. Tears streamed down my face, and I felt my nose begin to drip a little. It made my breathing harder, because I had to deal with my snot and my tears when I tried to breathe in. I also worried that I was getting Adam’s shirt messy, but there seemed to already be some dirt and grime on it, so I hoped that he wouldn’t mind.

“What can we do?” Larry asked.

I noticed a saw next to Adam and I. I pointed to it with my cuffed hands, turned around to point to Adam, and then mimed sawing to him. I turned back around to face him, and he looked at me with a look that seemed to imply that I was crazy.

“He wants me to saw the stitches,” Adam said.

I nodded my head up and down.

“That sounds like something someone would end up in the hospital trying to do,” Larry said.

“I feel like he should do it. He’s the doctor,” Adam said, pointing to Larry.

I nodded my head left and right. I couldn’t walk across the floor again, even with my vision. I just couldn’t.

He sighed, seeming to reside himself to his fate.

He picked up the saw, and cut into the stitches as tenderly as possible. The saw was larger than my mouth, and my lips were tight behind the stitches, so I ended up with blood running down my face. But I could open my mouth. I could breathe again. It felt amazing.

“Thank you,” I said, voice croaky and dry, with tears still dropping.

“You’re welcome,” he said in reply, just looking at my face.

“You did really well,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said.

And I breathed a lot more easily lying there with him. The future was uncertain, but at least I knew that I had someone to trust.

[imissjoongsmullet]

could you please make part 2 of mafia! dad! Han jisung, mafia! boyfriend! Yunho. when yiur daughter being kidnapped by another rival gang, and yiu very mad at your husband and he thought about ateez to help him and his oys to bring your daughter back, and she said sorry to jisung and jisung in his arms breathed 'thank god' after she saved and he proved his daughter and yunho please? thank you 💕

(part  1)

The house was dead quiet when you woke up. You turned over to find your husband sound asleep, brows slightly furrowed, hands balled into fists. Even in sleep, Jisung had trouble finding peace. You slid out from under the covers and made your way down to the kitchen. You paused for a moment at your daughter’s room, finding it empty. She’d most likely left for school already. You’d hoped to talk to her before she left about the many arguments she and her dad had been having recently.

Last night had been no exception.

“I told you never to see him again!”

“I don’t give a shit what you tell me!”

“Well, he better watch his back cause I swear the next time I catch him I’ll slit his throat and bleed him dry like the dirty pig he is!”

“Don’t you dare you monster!”

You knew your husband had a point. Your daughter was dating a member of a rivalling gang; it was a treacherous game she played, trusting someone who’s gang was actively fighting your own. As a mother, you couldn’t help feel like she was putting herself in danger the more time she spent with this Yunho guy, so you stood behind your husband’s decision to ban her from seeing him. But the other part of you also worried about your daughter’s happiness. You didn’t want to push her away.

“She’s already left?” Jisung’s groggy voice called. You felt his strong hands wrap around you from behind as he held you, planting a kiss to the nape of your neck.

“Yeah,” you replied, “I suppose I’ll talk to her tonight.”

He let go of you and sank down onto a kitchen chair.

“I just don’t know what to do with her anymore,” he sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes, “I know we said we wouldn’t attack ATEEZ unprovoked for the time being but if we could just take the guy out we wouldn’t be having these problems.”

“I’ve already told you,” you said, coming up behind him, rubbing his sore shoulders, “you kill him, your daughter will lose all respect she has for you. There’s got to be another way to solve this that doesn’t involve bloodshed.”

“That filthy animal deserves to die—”

“Honey, no,” you interjected, “please, you have more important things to worry about. Let me talk to her when she’s back from school. We’ll figure this out.”

“Fine,” Jisung grunted, getting up and grabbing his coat, “I’ll be out. Got business to take care of. Talk some sense into our daughter for me, okay?”

You nodded as he slammed the door behind him shut.

You spent most of the day worrying about what to say to your daughter once she’d be back from school. Time seemed to move one grain of sand through the hourglass at a time as you waited and waited… and waited. When the sun started setting and you were still home alone your nerves were starting to get the better of you.

She should be home by now, you thought, biting at the inside of your cheek feverishly. Where is she?

You turned on the TV to try and take your mind off of the situation at hand— not that it worked.

The front door slammed at 11:25, nearly giving you a heart attack. You ran up to meet your daughter, ready to give her a serious lecture, only to be met with Jisung.

“What’s wrong?” he said, noticing the panic creeping into your eyes.

“She hasn’t come home,” you replied, voice shaky.

Jisung’s face contorted into a scowl.

“That bastard,” he hissed, promptly pulling the gun from his belt and storming into the living room. He opened a drawer and hurriedly refilled his gun before spinning on his heels and running out the door.

“Jisung!” you yelled, starting after him but before you could open the passenger seat door, he’d started the engine and sped off down the street, tires screeching.

*

Jisung was breaking more traffic laws than he could count but he wasn’t scared; he was an excellent driver after all. What he was were scared of was what he would find once he got out of the car.

Most of the ATEEZ gang lived together in a hideout. It was an old house in a less travelled backstreet. Jisung knew where it was located but had never gone there. There was an unspoken rule of some sort that there should be no fights on actual home ground. Clearly, that rule had been thrown out the window when Yunho had taken up with his daughter. Rage bubbled up under his skin making him reckless. He wanted to hurt someone; preferably Yunho but his anger was so vivid that any violence would do. No one messed with his daughter.

It wasn’t hard to find Yunho. When Jisung got out of the car he could hear voices coming from the back yard of the old house. Walking closer he saw it was Yunho, Hongjoong and Mingi, standing around a large fire pit, drinking and laughing.

Cocking his gun he charged at them.

“Where the fuck is she?!” he yelled, shoving a perplexed Yunho against the back wall of the house, sticking the gun under his chin, “what have you done with her?!”

“What the fuck?!” Yunho spat back.

Jisung faintly heard the clicks of guns being pulled at him behind him but he didn’t care.

“What did you do to my daughter?!” he demanded, pressing the barrel of the gun harder into the younger man’s neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Yunho retorted, “I haven’t heard from her all day, fuck!”

“Don’t lie to me!” Jisung bellowed, shoving Yunho to the grass. Just as he was about to bring his foot down onto the Yunho’s back, he felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him and the next moment it was him being thrown to the ground.

Mingi came to stand over him, pointing his gun, “You shouldn’t have come here,” said the redhead, “any last words?”

Jisung scowled up at the gang members and opened his mouth to speak when a ringing brought a halt to everything.

“It’s her!” he breathed, recognizing the ring tone.

“Don’t fuck with us,” Mingi started saying but Yunho interrupted.

“Wait!” he said, crouching down to Jisung’s level, “is it really her?”

“Yes,” Jisung replied, taking out his phone and showing the name on the screen before answering the call.

He didn’t recognize the voice.

“We have her,” it said, deep and monotone.

Jisung’s pulse quickened, “where is she?”

“Come to the old shoe factory by the docks, alone, and you might get her back alive.”

The call ended before he had a chance to reply.

“We’re coming too,” Yunho said at once.

“To hell you are!” Jisung barked back, getting up and dashing off to his car, “Didn’t you hear? Come alone!” he went on, “let me handle this. I’ll get my daughter back if it’s the last thing I do!” he opened his car door.

“Hey!” Yunho shouted after him, making him halt.

“Don’t fuck it up!”

Jisung shook his head at the foolish youngster, shut himself in his car and let his engine roar into the night.

*

He knew the old factory, of course; it was a popular spot for settling business without alerting the police. He sped through the dark, empty city, mind turning just as fast as the wheels of his car. Deep down he knew what he was doing was reckless. How was he supposed to get out of this alive? He supposed that depended on what they wanted from him. But as long as his daughter was saved, it wouldn’t matter, he decided.

The factory looked abandoned as always. He got out and walked up to the building, fingering the gun at his belt.

The side door was half opened, beckoning him in. He stepped through finding himself in a large, open storage room.

A high pitched scream penetrated the cool night air. There she was, tied to a chair, crying through the cloth in her mouth.

Jisung set off at a run but stopped the moment a loud voice echoed, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Now he noticed the other people in the room. There must have been over a dozen men with guns pointing at him. A tall man in a pristine black suit came up behind the girl in the chair. His face twisted into a wicked smile as he caressed her cheek.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Jisung yelled, coming closer, only to be stopped by the sound of guns.

“Han Jisung,” the tall man said, strolling over, “good to have you here with us tonight.”

“Who are you?” Jisung asked, eyes hard.

The tall man smiled. “I’m Jaehyun. My boys and I are new in town and we thought we’d start things off right.” He pulled out a knife and stuck it under the young girl’s chin.

“What do you want?” Jisung called, trying to keep the panic out of his voice, “I have money.”

“I don’t want money,” the man called Jaehyun said, sliding the knife dangerously over the girl’s skin, “I want your whole gang to leave town.”

Jisung frowned in disbelief.

“Hand over the town to us,” the man went on, “and your daughter will be free to go.”

“I—” Jisung started, thinking things over in his head. To leave town was to give up everything he’d spent his whole life building. There was nothing for him out there, not to mention the countless people that worked for him, had pledged their life to him; he would make them homeless as well.

The girl on the chair whimpered helplessly. He looked at her, heart softening, walls collapsing.

“Okay,” he said, face down to the concrete.

“Wonderful,” Jaehyun replied, now walking up to Jisung, “just one more thing. We can’t let you leave here.”

Behind the man, the girl on the chair cried out once more.

“You’re their leader. I can’t let you live,” Jaehyun said, casual as daylight, “you understand, right? We have to send a message to the rest of your gang. They have to know we can’t be messed with.” He grinned wide as he pulled a gun from his belt and put it to the side of Jisung’s head.

“Say goodbye to your daughter,” he said, cocking the gun, just as a loud crashing sound came from up above.

Out of nowhere, a group of men in a black disguise jumped in from a hole in the ceiling, shooting at everyone around them. Jisung took his chance and leapt towards his daughter, untying her while his rescuers fought off this new gang. They were quite good, he had to admit.

It only took a couple of minutes for the battle to die down. Jaehyun now lied motionless on the factory floor, blood spreading out from under him. A couple of his minions were still struggling for breath but the men in disguise were dealing with them.

“Are you okay?” Jisung breathed when he finally got his daughter free, only to have her fling her arms around him tight.

“Dad!” she cried, “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”

He held her tight, the weight off his shoulders lifted at last.

“Thank god you’re alright,” he sighed, not wanting to let go.

“Everything is taken care of,” a new voice called.

To Jisung’s surprise, his daughter’s head shot up.

“Yunho!” she cried, eyes wide.

At the mention of his name, Jisung’s head turned to the mystery man, finding out it was no mystery man at all. The men in disguise were all members of ATEEZ.

“You,” he breathed in disbelief.

“I couldn’t let you go in there alone,” Yunho explained, looking from Jisung to the girl.

That’s when Jisung understood Yunho’s true intentions. Looking at the younger man, he felt gratefulness rather than anger. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was embracing the man he’d wanted to kill just hours ago.

“Thank you,” he said, “without your help, I’d be dead.”

Pulling back, Yunho nodded. “It’s okay. I think it’s about time we started working together.”

Jisung looked at Yunho and then at the other boys starting to crowd around them, feeling a comradery he hadn’t felt before.

This would be the start of a new beginning. Jisung would join forces with ATEEZ and together, they’d rule the town, making sure no outsider gangs could ever get in and take it from them. And as for Yunho? Jisung supposed he was alright to date his daughter. He watched the ATEEZ member link hands with his daughter, saw the joy in her eyes as she looked at him and vowed he’d never deny her the pleasure of love again.

♥ ♥ ♥

[pagankingfinn]

The Unfaltering Chaos Trio - Chapter 1 - Goddamn it Izu

The noise of multiple sets of feet pounding against the pavement echoed up the walls of the building around them. The tallest figure spun around to cover their escape with a veil of fire, following the shorter companions soon after. The shouts of heros and the sirens of police cars reverberate around the inside of their skulls.

The tallest had dark, almost purple in color, burn scars that covered his body. Between old and new injuries it was difficult to tell what his condition was. He seemed to mostly be covered in dirt, however, the unlit alley ways provided no way to tell.

“Izuku this is all your fault!” The tallest yelled, the smallest responded by flipping his head back with a grin and a giggle. His green and black curly hair was pulled into a messy bun, his dark moss green eyes glimmered with mischief, he had several injuries already but didn’t seem to notice as he ran with a limp. The female running beside him was covered in scrapes and bruises, the hems of her clothing were singed and ripped.

“You’re welcome Dabi!” He responded as he looked forward again, and led the other two through the streets. Despite the delays they had been setting up, they could hear the pro heros getting closer and closer. A fireball narrowly missed the female of the group, hitting Izuku in the back. He cried out in pain as he stumbled and fell.

“Shit! Come on Izuku, tell us which way to go!” The female spoke as the taller male carried Izuku on his back. The anxiety of the three rose with every passing second, the heros were on their heels as they continued to run through the streets.

Before they could get any instructions, their escape was cut off by a wall of branches. The other passage was blocked off by several pro heros. Their sweat dropped as they heard the familiar thump of combat boots against concrete. They spun around to look at the raven haired man.

As Dabi and the unnamed female took a fighting stance, they were cut off before anything could happen.

“Your friend needs medical attention, it would be wise to surrender before he gets worse.” The pro hero, Eraserhead, stated. The pair didn’t seem to like that, seeing as the female gave a loud outburst in response.

“NOBODY TOUCHES OUR LITTLE BROTHER!” She screamed, the only thing keeping her from lunging forward was the weak grip she felt on the shoulder of her sweater. She looked to see Izuku was the one who had grabbed hold of her sweater, while Dabi sweeped his arm out to keep the female back.

“Toga, we’re surrounded. If we fight now, we might lose Izuku. Look at him-” Dabi tried to reason, Toga’s head dropped to the ground as she reached up and gently grasped the hand holding onto her sweater. They both knew that there was no way to easily heal him, after all the organization they belonged to had no healer in the group.

Izuku began to slip off Dabi as he spoke, Toga let out a screech as he rushed to try and support their chosen family member. Dabi looked alarm as they turned their attention to the boy faintly breathing at this point. They shared a look before slowly nodding, and surrendering.

Except, they forgot to put Izuku down beforehand, so they ended up dropping him on accident. Luckily Eraserhead was fast enough to use his capture gear and grab the boy.

The rest went as expected, except with Izuku in an ambulance while Toga and Dabi were being taken in for questioning. They ended up taking an offer that they couldn’t refuse from a mouse bear dog creature, and then were taken into the newest place of residence for the next few years.

That’s how Izuku woke up, handcuffed to a hospital bed, covered in bandages, with Toga sleeping next to him and Dabi leaned across the end of the bed in a chair. He stirred slightly and made a small noise as he reached out for his older brother.

“Hey Izu, how’d you sleep?” Toga asked him as she woke up and sat up, hooking an arm under his right armpit and holding his left arm to help him sit up. She then used her foot to poke Dabi awake.

“... Where are we?” Izuku rasped out, looking around the room carefully. Dabi slowly looked up and saw that Toga was helping to support the sickliest member of their sibling group. Dabi moved onto the bed, sliding behind Izuku so that he could fit. He looked at the bandages on his back and slowly untied them.

“We’re in UA. They used you as a bargaining chip against us, if we didn’t accept they were going to seperate us all.” Dabi explained as he unwrapped the tight bandages. Unfortunately, because of how Izuku’s broken bones had healed when he was younger, he had to be careful to not cause any more breakage. Izuku slumped softly against Dabi once the wrappings weren’t so tight.

“Thank you.” Izuku mumbled in gratitude. He shifted until he was more against the larger male, enjoying the heat his body gave off as it helped relax his taxed muscles. Toga joined her brothers in the pile on the bed, nestling into the crook beside Izuku.

That’s how the UA staff found them, well, that’s how Aizawa, Nezu, and Recovery Girl found them. They looked up silently at the door as it opened, the three of them stiffening as their muscles tensed. Dabi dragged Izuku closer to him as the trio subconsciously tried to squeeze themselves as much as possible against the white brick wall. They stood out against the sterile environment of the infirmary.

Izuku glared at the three, ignoring the tender areas on his back as he pressed against Dabi. He pulled Toga closer as well. The sight was quite interesting, with the three teens tense and hunched over like vultures. They didn't make a move or speak as they looked at the adults in the room.

Nezu jumped up on the bed and Izuku nearly screamed in response. It was hard to not want to reflexively screech when a white furred creature jumps up onto your hospital bed. Toga, Izuku, and Dabi were all too dazed and off put by the surreal events to fully process what was going on.

Recovery Girl did end up yelling at Izuku for not having his bandages on, when it was explained that the boy had a history of breaking bones without proper treatment. Meaning that, and this was especially true for his ribs, if there was too much pressure applied he could break his bones again. It also didn’t help that Toga and Dabi wouldn’t let the old woman get near Izuku if she had any intent of breaking his bones to heal them.

Once Izuku was no longer clad in a hospital gown. He instead was now wearing his tattered clothing that had been repaired with staples and the most hideous prints Izuku had ever seen - courtesy of Dabi and Toga - a random tee shirt, and the rest of his regular outfit. Including the twink shorts, stockings, garter belt, and high tops that had been dragged through the zombie apocalypse and back four times over.

Soon enough the chaotic trio had been led to the 1-A dorms, and shown their rooms. As the three weren’t allowed to leave campus yet, Nezu had instead placed them in the dorm systems as guinea pigs for how dorm life would look. Nezu would open up the dorms, likely at the end of the first semester, to the students.

It was only once the three children were inside the empty dorm building that they let out the breath they had been holding. They looked around the commons for a bit, then Aizawa gathered them shortly after.

“Alright you three, there’s a separate floor that’s just for you guys. Nezu had Cementos add to it while Izuku was in the infirmary. It does have running water and electricity, it’s also the floor where the boiler, furnace, and backup generators are. But you won’t be able to access that area.” Aizawa explained to them with an authoritative tone as he led the trio to the elevator. He inserted a key, opening up a button that would take them to the basement.

It was eerily quiet, the teens were still trying to process what in the fresh fuck was going on. It wasn’t too much of a surprise as their world had been turned upside down within only a few days.

“Thank you, we should be able to find our rooms from here.” Dabi huffed out as he coralled his siblings out of the elevator and sent them off down the hall. He raised his eye skeptically while Aizawa glared at him.

“What? We may have just had our entire world flipped, but we can take care of ourselves. We don’t need you or any other adult to keep us in check. The three od us may be chaotic but we’re not stupid, and even if Toga and Izuku are the most likely to get into trouble, they still know when to not push the boundries.” Dabi responded dryly, crossing his arms as he stood in front of Aizawa. His piercing lightning blue eyes seemed to cut into the hero’s soul.

“Yeah yeah, just stay out of trouble. Here’s a copy of the key to the elevator, don’t lose it.” Aizawa responded with the same dry tone, he placed a spare key in the hands of the teenager. He continued his conversation as he walked to the elevator.

“You three will be required to wear the UA uniforms tomorrow. I or another staff member will grab you tomorrow morning when classes start.” Aizawa spoke as he entered the elevator. The doors shut behind him, Dabi watching the entire time until he could hear the box departing. He headed in the direction Izuku and Toga went.

Toga came running around the corner screaming, hiding behind Dabi while the croaky cackling of Izuku could be heard. “He found a bunch of tools left over from construction!” Toga squeaked as she cowered behind Dabi, Izuku came tearing around the corner soon after with a sledge hammer in hand as he grinned widely. He was covered in dust and seemed very proud of himself.

“I knocked out the walls between the point where two of the bathroom cabinets connect, and the wall between two of the closets. So now we can have tunnels to visit each other!” He squealed, dragging them off to show his handy work. Surprisingly he didn’t absolutely destroy the walls and had somehow managed to get fairly clean cuts.

“How did you-” Dabi began to ask, before being cut off by Izuku.

“Magic.”

Dabi looked at Toga, who gave him a shrug. He seemed to just accept the fact that their younger brother was one to take action without thinking. This was clearly one of those moments, as Izuku ran off to go explore some more. Meanwhile, Toga and Dabi decided to explore the now connected rooms. Each of them were bare beyond a closet with some uniforms, a night stand, and a bed. They wrinkled their noses in disgust with a light sneer.

“Hey Izuku! We’re going to dismantle the beds and move them all to the central room! Bring that tool box you found!” Toga yelled out into the halls, there was some rustling and a crash before Izuku came bounding over with a tool box. Dabi set out on dismantling the wooden frames while Toga and Izuku went to work on moving the mattresses out into the hall.

Izuku and Toga soon returned to grab tools and go dismantle the other bed frame, they kept the one in the central room intact. Using the closet tunnel they moved the pieces of the frame into the central room. Dabi got them to help move the pieces into the hall and into the central room.

The entire process took over an hour, and rebuilding a bed frame to fit three mattresses all next to each other took even longer. By the time they had finished they were all wiped out, they had no clocks in the dorms, but guessing by their biological clocks and their exhaustion they figured it was around 9 or 10 pm.

The low growling of their stomachs shook them from their shock as they sighed, Toga flopped onto one of the mattresses with a heavy huff. Izuku gave a sigh.

“I’ll go scrounge something together for us, there’s likely something I can manage to find in the school kitchen.” Izuku offered, he had the most experience with living on the streets than the other two. So when it came to times like this he was usually the one to go and scrounge around.

On the other side of the city, it had taken Aizawa until he got home to realize he forgot to tell the kids to go grab food. He mentally cursed at himself, there wouldn’t be any other teachers present at this time to tell the kids. He didn’t have any way to call them, as he didn’t have their numbers despite them having phones.

Izuku didn’t take long to exploit his skills of having the flexibility of a ferret. To the boy, climbing around and finding escape routes was like a sixth sense. So within fifteen minutes, he had escaped the basement, gotten out of the dorms, snuck into the cafeteria through the kitchen back door, and was now poking around to see what he could find.

There! An open bag of white rice. He looked around for something to put the rice in, deciding to turn his hoodie around and use his hood to carry the rice. He filled it with as much as he could manage, pulled the draw strings tight, and fled before he could push his luck too far. He was back to the dorms even quicker now that he knew where to enter the basement again.

It wasn’t long before Izuku had found a hot plate and a small pot to cook with, he squirreled away back to the room where his siblings were. Toga sat up when she heard Izuku, and Dabi looked over from where he was seated. They watched as Izuku filled the pot with water and plugged in the hot plate. He scampered off to grab a lid, a stirring spoon, and some dishware to use.

Izuku had only made a small portion of the rice, and soon enough the rice finished cooking. The trio was able to dish up their plain meal. Izuku unplugged the hot plate as he and his siblings dug into the bland rice, but even so they enjoyed just having something warm to eat. Soon enough with the warmth of food inside them, mixed with exhaustion, they all climbed onto the beds and fell asleep with their limbs entangled.

The next morning the three woke up fairly early, each of them got up and stretched individually. Without saying a word, Toga bounded off to one of the bathrooms to shower, while Izuku and Dabi used the same one. Both boys had trouble reaching various spots. Izuku often couldn’t get all the soap out of the thick mop of hair on his head. While Dabi couldn’t always reach his back to clean the dirt out from under the staples and in between his scars. Izuku also liked to help Dabi re-dye his hair when the black began to face.

Soon enough all three were finished with their showers and had dried off. They each dawned the new uniforms they were required to wear, and Izuku went to wash the pot and cook up some more rice before a teacher came to grab them. All three of them scarfed down their rice after it was finished cooking. After, Izuku styled Toga’s hair into her usual space buns.

Dabi took the bun out of Izuku’s hair and brushed it while the other male was busy with Toga’s hair. He put it back up into a bun before brushing his own hair. Dabi grabbed the key and used it to access the elevator so that they could go sit in the commons. The three teens went and sat on the floor near the doorway while they waited for a teacher or staff member to come grab them. Time ticked by agonizingly slow for the tree, Izuku took to napping against the wall. Toga decided to subtly move the furniture around, while Dabi just charged his phone and played on it.

Finally salvation came in the form of the door knob turning. The three jumped to their feet and wept in joy as the boredom was finally banished from the kingdom, at least until the quest reset for the next person to come along and obtain it.

Izuku immediately recognized who the hero was without so much as looking directly at them. He quietly muttered indignantly under his breath, but didn’t comment on it as they followed Japan’s national golden labrador. Sufficient to say, the reverse-otaku for a hero was not the most favorite among the three. The vibrations of him walking up to the door were enough to rudely jar Izuku awake, and the smile that reflected light even in the depths of the abyss was enough to get the green haired teenager more than annoyed.

The walk through the halls didn’t seem to lift their spirits any higher. The sheer size of the place was enough to put all of them on edge, and the idea of it being filled with future heros didn’t help in the slightest. Eventually they reached the gargantuan doors of class 1-A, and just in time as they were called to enter the classroom.

Swallowing the anxiety in their throats and steeling themselves for the events of the future, they slid the door open and walked into the classroom. The murmurs and shouts of excitement died out entirely for a few blissful milliseconds, only for the chaos to return. They looked between each other, unsure what to do, before the caterpillar on the floor got up to quiet down the class.

“All of you be quiet. We have three new students joining us, as you can tell, they will introduce themselves and then you may ask questions. Keep the volume down, if I have to be woken up because you all are too rowdy there will be severe consequences.” The tired talking caterpillar spoke, the three stared at the amalgamation before realizing that it was a sleeping bag that contained their homeroom teacher.

Izuku hesitantly walked up to the podium to introduce himself, he wanted to get this done and over with. He spoke clearly to the class in an excited manner.

“I’m Izuku Midoriya, I don’t have a quirk. A fun fact is that I’ve broken several bones and never gotten any treatment, the worst is from when I broke four ribs.” He beamed, bouncing on his heels as if it was perfectly normal to have broken four ribs and even more bones.

Dabi gently pulled Izuku back, the small boy easily following as Toga soon took the place of where Izuku was once standing. She seemed to share the same attitude towards her greeting as Izuku, except not as much bent on the breakage of one’s body.

“I’m Toga Himiko! My quirk is Transform, I have to consume the blood of someone to take their form. I like knives and one time I ate a bird!” Toga enthusiastically spoke, spinning around to join Izuku. Dabi was the last one to go.

“I go by Dabi. My quirk is Cremation, basically I can use blue fire. These are my adopted siblings.” Dabi spoke plainly, making blue fire in his hand as a demonstration before putting it out and joining his siblings.

That’s when izuku noticed a particular ash blonde and pressed as close as he could to his siblings. While Izuku didn’t necessarily fear the man, he had mixed emotions and typically avoided confrontation at all costs.

“DEKU! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE YOU QUIRKLESS BASTARD!” The boy remarked angrily as his palms popped with the sound of small explosions. Izuku let out a sigh and stepped forward slightly.

“I’m not here by choice, flaming dumpster fire man fucking hit me with a fireball and I woke up here after collapsing on the ground. I’m here not because I want to be a hero, but because I’m a villain who got captured thanks to the pompous assholes you all look up to. Got that, Kacchan?” Izuku snipped back, the class went quiet as the resident angry pomeranian stopped working. Izuku gave an annoyed huff in response as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“We’re not answering any questions.” The three spoke before heading to their seats. They quietly conversed between each other as they ignored those around them.