#and they demanded pizza as ransom

[thebunnednun]

Sweet dreams!~ Trafalgar D. Law x Wife! Reader (Modern Au)

Prompt: Hear me out, Law with a girlfriend who has Narcolepsy. Ya know, just like Ace who keeps sleeping randomly.

Dearest, @orange-milky

You ask, you shall receive! I made a few changes with it. I hope you don't mind.

Another request for Follower Fridays! If you have a fic request go ahead and send it to me to see it pop on Friday! 

Art was found here.

On with the show!!~

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some quick college major headcanons: 

Monkey D. Luffy - Sports Science or Physical Education Roronoa Zoro - Martial Arts or Kinesiology Nami - Meteorology or Economics with a minor in Business Marketing 

Brook - Music or Performing Arts

Usopp - Engineering or Fine Arts Sanji - Culinary Arts

Tony Tony Chopper - Medicine or Veterinary Science Nico Robin - Archaeology or History Franky - Mechanical Engineering Jinbei- Marine Biologist or Environmental/Human rights activist

Trafalgar D. Water Law - Medicine

Bepo - Environmental Science or Zoology Shachi - Marine Biology

Penguin - Engineering or Naval Architecture

Ikkaku - Pharmacy or Chemistry

—------------------------------------

You and Law didn’t meet in the most conventional way. 

—-------

Law stood at the entrance of the bustling campus cafeteria, scanning the area for a place to grab a quick lunch. Amid the crowd, he noticed a girl passionately discussing a book with a group of friends. Her energy and enthusiasm were captivating, and for a moment, Law found himself intrigued.

As he watched, she suddenly stopped mid-sentence and began to sway. Her friends reached out, but before they could react, she collapsed onto a nearby bench, sound asleep. Law's curiosity piqued. He approached her friends, who seemed unfazed by the incident.

"Is she okay?" Law asked, his voice carrying a hint of concern.

One of her friends, a short-ish guy with fluffy black hair, turned to him and smiled. "Yeah, she's fine. She has narcolepsy. It happens sometimes." He tried to swipe her pizza before a tangerine haired girl slapped his hand away. 

Law nodded, filing away this new information. He glanced back at the girl, now peacefully napping, and felt a strange pull to learn more about her.

—--------

A few days later, Law found himself in the library, buried in research. He noticed the same girl from the cafeteria asleep at a nearby table, a stack of books around her. He approached quietly, debating whether to wake her.

Just then, her eyes fluttered open. She looked up at him, slightly disoriented, but quickly recovered. 

“The fuck-”

"Hi, I'm sorry I startled you."

You reached for your purse as he placed an unopened gatorade on the table and motioned to the chair across from you. Remembering him from your biology class, you nodded and decided to let him sit, hand still on your pink stun gun. 

"Law," he introduced himself, taking a seat across from you. "I saw you pass out in the cafeteria the other day."

You chuckled softly. "Yeah, that happens a lot. It's part of having narcolepsy."

Law nodded, his curiosity deepening. "Must be challenging."

"It can be," you admitted. "But you learn to manage. And my friends help out a lot!"

“I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t feel comfortable seeing you alone and asleep.” 

'Awe, okay maybe he’s a gentleman.'

You smiled, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Well, at least if I get kidnapped, I'll be well-rested for the ransom negotiations."

Law took a sip of his coffee and immediately choked, nearly spraying it everywhere. He coughed, trying to regain his composure. "Okay, that's... that's one way to look at it," he said, laughing and wiping his mouth. "I guess I'll have to stick around to make sure they demand top dollar for you."

You giggled before hushing yourself when you saw the librarian round the corner. “So sweet to drive up the asking price." You saw a genuine smile flick across Law’s lips and decided to let him stick around. 

As they continued to talk, Law found himself drawn to your resilience and positive outlook. You had an infectious zest for life that Law couldn't ignore. So, over the next few weeks, you and Law grew closer. 

Turns out you had the same major and classes!

He made it a point to learn more about narcolepsy, wanting to support you as best as he could. You spent time studying together, going to coffee shops, and exploring the campus.

—----------

Park Bench:

One afternoon, Law was walking through the campus park when he noticed a familiar figure sprawled on a bench. He chuckled, recognizing you immediately. You had a book resting on your chest, your peaceful expression illuminated by the dappled sunlight.

"Dreamer," he called softly, sitting beside you. He gently removed the book and adjusted your position to make you more comfortable.

Just then, Luffy and his friends passed by, noticing the scene. Luffy grinned, giving Law a thumbs up. "Taking good care of [Name], Law?"

Law rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his smile. "Yeah, Luffy. Always."

Eating:

During lunch, you and Law sat with a group of his friends. Mid-conversation, you suddenly slumped forward, asleep on the table. Law sighed, used to the sight, and gently lifted your head, placing a folded jacket under it as a makeshift pillow.

Penguin and Shachi, who were sitting across from you, exchanged amused glances. "Hands full?" Penguin questioned with a chuckle.

Law smirked. "You have no idea."

Drive-Through:

One evening, Law decided to take you out for a quick dinner. As he pulled up to the drive-through, he started to place the order when he felt a small weight hit his shoulder. Glancing over, he saw you had fallen asleep, your head resting against him. 

He sighed but smiled fondly. "Yeah, can I get two cheeseburgers, one with extra pickles, and a large fries with an apple pie?" he said, already knowing your order by heart.

TA’ing a Classroom:

During one of your lectures, Law received an urgent text from Professor Garp. He hurried to the classroom, finding you asleep at your desk. Your student’s were giggling quietly, but Law's concern was evident.

"Dreamer," he whispered, gently shaking you awake. "Time to go."

You blinked up at him, embarrassed. "Sorry, Law."

"It's okay," he said softly, helping you gather your things. "Let's get you somewhere comfortable."

He picked you up like a small teddy bear and shuffled you out of the door. You gazed up at him, your eyes soft and affectionate. "I must really trust you if I keep falling asleep around you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper before sleep pulled you back under. 

Coffee Shop:

You and Law were enjoying a quiet afternoon in your favorite coffee shop. As he was engrossed in a medical journal, he suddenly felt your head against his shoulder. You had fallen asleep, your coffee cup still half-full.

The barista, Sanji, who knew you both well, smiled and whispered to Law, "She’s out again, huh?"

Law nodded, carefully shifting you into his lap. "Yeah, she is." 

Later that evening, while watching a movie in Law's apartment, you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder. Law softly adjusted your position, making sure you were comfortable. He watched you sleep, admiring the lovely girl he hadn't expected to drop into his life.

The next day, You woke up in Law's room, covered with a blanket. ‘He must’ve taken the couch.’ You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest. The first rays of morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the room. Law knocked before walking in, holding a cup of coffee. His hair was slightly tousled, and his eyes softened as he saw you awake.

"Morning," he said, handing you a warm mug. The steam rose gently, carrying the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. You sat up fully and pushed yourself against the headboard, your fingers brushing against his as he steadied the mug.

"Thanks," you said, taking a sip. The warmth spread through you, both from the coffee and the gesture. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," Law said simply, his voice low and sincere. "I care about you."

Your eyes softened as you looked at him, a gentle smile spreading across your face. "I care about you too, Law. Thanks for understanding."

Law smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

"Get used to it. I'm not going anywhere."

—-

It had been a few months and you were now dating. One day, during a particularly stressful exam period, you expressed your frustration. "I feel like such a burden sometimes."

Law looked at you, his eyes serious. "You're not a burden, [Name]. You're important to me. Your condition doesn't change that." He abandoned his book and moved closer, cupping your face in his hands. His touch was gentle yet firm, grounding you. 

Law's gaze softened as he rested his forehead against yours. "You're strong, and you're doing your best. We'll get through this together," he murmured, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. Law leaned in and placed several soft kisses along the apples of your cheeks, each one filled with reassurance and love.

The heat rose up in your chest and flood through you. "Thank you, Law,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. Instead of speaking more, you reached up and gently squeezed Law's hands, your eyes meeting his with a look that conveyed everything you couldn't put into words.

You closed your eyes, feeling the tension slowly melt away. In that moment, the stress of exams and the challenges of your condition seemed more manageable with Law by your side. As you both held each other close, the room filled with a comforting silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of your breathing.

—------------------------ Moving in together!

Dating Law had always been an adventure. From the intense late-night study sessions to the countless study dates where you'd find each other engrossed in medical journals, dedication was something you both admired deeply. But it wasn’t long before you noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the way his movements grew sluggish as the night wore on, and how he often seemed distant, lost in his thoughts.

One particularly late evening, you found him in his apartment, staring at the ceiling, his eyes wide open despite the exhaustion etched into his features. It was then you realized: Law had insomnia. He never mentioned it, brushing off your concerns with a quick smile and a change of subject, but the signs were undeniable. 

That little fucker!

"Law," you said softly, sitting beside him on the bed. "How long have you been dealing with this?"

He sighed, turning to face you. "A while," he admitted. "It's just part of who I am."

You frowned, brushing a hand through his hair. "But it doesn't have to be. You help me so I’m gonna help you. We can figure this out together."

It was that moment that solidified your decision to move in together. If you were going to help each other through medical school and residency, you needed to be there for one another, especially during the tough times.

Moving in together was a significant step, but it felt natural. You found comfort in the rhythm of shared routines and small domestic rituals. Mornings began with sleepy kisses and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, while evenings often ended with both of you sprawled on the couch, medical textbooks spread around, discussing cases and treatments.

Helping Law with his insomnia became part of your routine the way he helped you with your narcolepsy was part of his. You started by creating a calming nighttime environment: dim lights, soft music, and sometimes even a warm bath. But it was the nights when you held him close, your fingers running through his hair, whispering soothing words, that made the most difference.

On nights when sleep seemed to be closing in on you, you’d tackle his big goofy ass into the bed and koala him, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety. "Just breathe," you'd murmur, your voice a gentle anchor in the dark. "I've got you."

He’d relax against you, the tension slowly easing from his body as your fingers traced soothing patterns on his scalp. Sometimes, you’d hum softly, a melody you both loved, letting the music lull him into a sense of peace.

There were still nights when he'd find you asleep first, your body sprawled in the most inconvenient places — fully on top of the kitchen table, upside down on the couch, curled up in the tub (scared the literal shit outta him) or even mid-sentence on your shared bed. He'd just chuckle softly, scooping you up and carrying you to bed, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before tucking you in. 

Living together was pretty lit. You learned to navigate each other’s quirks and habits, finding joy in the little things. Your bodies weird sleep patterns weren't a burden but more of a shared challenge, one you faced together. And through it all, the love between you grew stronger, built on a foundation of mutual support and understanding.

Despite the long hours and the relentless demands of your budding medical careers, you found peace in each other’s presence. The moments of rest, however fleeting, were treasured. In the quiet hours of the night, with Law’s head resting on your chest, you’d find yourself smiling, knowing that no matter how tough things got, you’d always have each other to come home to.

Your shared friends played a vital role in this journey as well. They rallied around you and Law, each offering their unique brand of support. Luffy, with his infectious energy, would drag Law into spontaneous campus adventures, exhausting him just enough to help him sleep better. There was a time when Luffy insisted on a late-night beach bonfire, where the sound of the waves and the warmth of the fire finally lulled Law into a deep sleep.

Zoro, in his own quiet way, introduced Law to meditation and breathing exercises, often practicing together in the early mornings before the day’s chaos began. Sanji would cook up hearty meals designed to promote sleep (for you energy), slipping herbal teas into your nightly routine. 

"Chamomile for the win," he'd say with a wink, handing Law a steaming cup. 

Nami and Robin took a more research-based approach, scouring medical journals and holistic remedies to find anything that might help. They'd often have evenings where they'd share their findings, creating a comprehensive plan that combined traditional and alternative methods.

Chopper, being a doctor prodigy himself, was a great ally. He frequently checked on Law’s progress, suggesting adjustments to his routine or medication. 

And then there was Usopp and Franky, who used their engineering skills to design a customized, noise-canceling sleep mask and a comfortable, ergonomic bed that helped reduce stress and promote better sleep. Even Brook, with his calming violin melodies, would sometimes play soothing lullabies, his skeletal fingers dancing over the strings.

Law's friends, initially unsure about your condition, quickly adapted. Bepo, a tall dark skinned man with the best hugs anyone could ever give, and one of Law's closest friends, would carry You to a comfortable spot whenever you fell asleep in odd places. Penguin and Shachi would create makeshift beds with their hats whenever they saw you clock out at the study table. Ikkaku didn’t play about your safety either. If you fell asleep at the pub then she was keeping her arm around you at all times until Law could take you home. 

Damn you loved everybody!!~

Living together, surrounded by such a supportive group of friends, made the journey easier. The nights were no longer something to dread but moments of bonding and care. You and Law found a balance, each learning to lean on the other, and the support of your shared friends only strengthened your resolve. 

—---------

At Home:

Law arrived home first, pacing the living room as he waited for you. Today he wasn’t able to drive you both due to him being on call. Hearing your car pull up, he stepped outside, just in time to see you struggling to stay awake. Opening the car door for you, he teased, "I'm surprised you didn't fall asleep again."

You smiled sheepishly. "I tried my best." You threw him your keys and decided to leave the bags in the car.

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you inside. "You need to be more careful, sweetheart. I worry about you."

"You always worry," you replied, resting your head against his shoulder.

"And I'll never stop," he said softly, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Inside, Law set you down on the couch, handing you a glass of water. You looked up at him, eyes filled with gratitude and affection. He sat beside you, taking your hand. "I'll always take care of you, Dreamer. Just promise me you'll try to be more careful."

"I promise," you said, squeezing his hand.

—--------

Office Couch:

One late evening, you finished your shift at the hospital and decided to check on Law in his office. Opening the door quietly, you found him slumped over his desk, fast asleep. His dark circles and the clutter of medical journals around him told you he hadn't been sleeping well.

Smiling softly, you walked over and gently shook his shoulder. "Babe, you need to sleep properly."

He groaned, barely awake. "I'm fine, my love."

"No, you're not," you insisted, helping him up. You led him to the couch in his office, coaxing him to lie down. Once he was settled, you snuggled up beside him, your warmth and presence easing him into a deeper sleep.

Living Room:

One night, you woke up to find the bed empty. Knowing Law's struggle with insomnia, you got up and found him on the couch, wide awake and staring at the ceiling.

"Law," you whispered, sitting beside him. "Can't sleep again?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "No."

Without a word, you laid down beside him, making yourself the big spoon. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. "You know, I don't mind being your personal pillow," you murmured, your fingers gently playing with his hair.

He relaxed against you, his tense muscles slowly unwinding. Your soothing voice and gentle touch worked their magic, and before long, he drifted off to sleep in your embrace.

University Library:

During a late-night study session in the library, you found Law fast asleep amidst a pile of books. You knew he had been pushing himself too hard, so you carefully moved the books aside and slid in next to him.

"Couldn't stay awake without me, huh?"

You wrapped an arm around him, nuzzling your head against his shoulder like a cat. The warmth of your body and the steady rhythm of your breathing provided him with a sense of comfort. Even in his sleep, he instinctively pulled you closer, just loving your presence.

Bedroom:

One particularly rough night, you woke to Law pacing the hallway, unable to settle down. You got out of bed and approached him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.

"Come back to bed, Baby," you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his back.

He sighed, leaning into your touch. "I can't sleep," he found your hands and raised them to his lips to plant kisses on the back of them. You booped his nose before kissing his shoulder blades. “C’mon,”

You pulled backwards to guide him to the bed and fell backwards, making yourself the big spoon. As you held him close, you began to talk softly, recounting your day and telling him stories. Your fingers threaded through his hair, your voice soothing and rhythmic.

Gradually, you felt his breathing even out, his body relaxing completely. You stayed like that, holding him until you were sure he was deeply asleep, knowing that your presence was his anchor.

Kitchen:

Early one morning, you found Law asleep at the kitchen table, his head resting on his folded arms. He had clearly been up all night, working on something.

You sighed softly, shaking your head with a fond smile. "Oh, babe."

Carefully, you lifted him from the chair, supporting his weight as you guided him to the bedroom. Once he was settled in bed, you climbed in beside him, snuggling close.

"I've got you," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He mumbled something incoherent, suddenly wrapping an arm around your hips as he drifted deeper into slumber.

You stayed with him, knowing that even in his dreams, he needed the reassurance of your presence.

After graduation—---- 

Years had passed since your days as a medical student, and now you were a fully-fledged doctor, training young residents alongside Law. The hospital environment was a bustling hub of activity, and your relationship with Law had to be kept under wraps from the higher-ups. Despite the secrecy, your students couldn't help but notice the chemistry between you two.

"I swear, the Trafalgar’s are such an adorable couple," one of your residents whispered to another during a break.

"Totally! He's all grumpy and she's like his sunshine! They're like hospital mom and dad," the other replied with a grin.

Unbeknownst to them, their playful shipping was not far from the truth. Law's stern demeanor contrasted with your warm, approachable nature, creating a dynamic that both baffled and endeared your students. They would often turn to you for guidance, seeing you as a nurturing figure, while Law's gruff exterior masked his deep care for his residents and patients. 

(Freaking softy~)

Despite the progress in managing your narcolepsy, there were still moments when it caught up with you. It never happened during lectures or patient interactions, but sometimes during lunch, in your car, or in the privacy of your office, you would fall into a deep sleep, impossible to wake up from.

One afternoon, after a particularly exhausting morning, you found yourself nodding off during lunch. Your residents, familiar with your condition, quickly alerted Law with a series of beeps. He arrived shortly after, a mix of concern and affection in his eyes as he gently lifted you into his arms.

"You've got to be more careful, Dreamer," he whispered, carrying you to his office where you could sleep undisturbed.

He placed you on the couch, covering you with a soft blanket. Your peaceful expression as you slept brought a smile to his face, even as he sighed at the thought of how hard you pushed yourself.

In the Car:

One evening, after a long shift, you decided to take a moment to rest in your car before heading home. Law was finishing up some paperwork when one of your residents knocked on his door, slightly panicked.

"Dr. Trafalgar? Dr. Trafalgar fell asleep in her car. We can't wake her up."

Law's expression softened as he nodded. "I'll take care of it."

He found you in your car, head resting against the window, completely out cold. Carefully, he opened the door and gently lifted you out, carrying you back to his office.

"Dreamer," he murmured, settling you on the couch once more. "You really need to take it easy."

In Your Office:

During a rare moment of downtime, you had decided to catch up on some paperwork in your office. The next thing you knew, you were waking up to the feeling of Law's arms around you, lifting you from your chair.

"Can't resist taking a nap just to be in my arms?" he teased, carefully carrying you to his office.

You mumbled something incoherent, still barely unconscious, but snuggled closer to him. Law chuckled softly, his heart swelling with affection.

—-----

Law glanced at his phone, the familiar chime indicating a new message. It was from one of the medical students.

"Dr. Trafalgar, she fell asleep in the common room again."

He sighed, a mix of exasperation and fondness crossing his features. Quickly gathering his things, he made his way to the common room. As he entered, he saw you slumped over a pile of textbooks, softly snoring. The sight of you asleep, with your hair slightly tousled and your face relaxed, made him smile despite his concern.

"Dreamer," he murmured, gently shaking your shoulder.

You stirred, blinking sleepily up at him. "Law...?"

"Couldn't wait to fall into my arms, huh?" he smirked, squatting down to your height to plant a kiss on your sleepy head.

He gently lifted you into his arms, feeling your head nestled against his shoulder. Your soft breaths tickled his neck, reminding him of how much he adored these moments, even though he wished they didn't happen under such circumstances. As he carried you through the corridors, fellow doctors and nurses exchanged knowing smiles and whispered comments about the devoted couple.

Arriving at his office, Law gently placed you on the couch he had designated for moments like these. He covered you with a warm, soft blanket and brushed a stray hair from your face. You looked so peaceful, so vulnerable, and it tugged at his heartstrings.

"You're lucky I found you," he said, his tone lighter. "Guess who's getting extra assignments as punishment?"

You pouted, still half-asleep. " 'S not fair..."

"Life's not fair," he replied, smirking. "Ah, you're so cute. Don't even remember we're doctors now."

You mumbled something incoherent, your eyes half-closed, but a playful thought crossed your mind. "No, but I know who I married!~"

Law's eyes widened in realization, a grin spreading across his face. "Oh, look who's not really asleep!"

Before you could respond, he unleashed a tickle attack, making you squirm and squeal uncontrollably. The light of his office caught your wedding rings, making them shine brightly. You tried to fend him off, but your laughter and sleepiness weakened your defenses.

"Law! Stop!" you giggled, trying to catch your breath.

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you decided to turn the tables. You reached up and bit his collarbone, catching him off guard, before you began to tickle him back. Law's deep chuckles filled the room as he tried to evade your wiggly fingers, but you were relentless. 

"Don’t you dare!" he managed between laughs, his usual stoic expression replaced with one of pure joy.

The two of you ended up rolling around on the couch, tickling and laughing until you were both breathless and tangled in the blanket. You finally stopped, both of you lying there, panting and grinning at each other.

"Okay, okay, truce," Law said, holding up his hands in surrender.

You snuggled closer to him, resting your head on his chest. "Truce," you agreed, your eyes closing as you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Law wrapped his arms around you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Get some rest, my wife. I've got you."

As you drifted back to sleep, the warmth of the blanket and Law's presence lulling you into a peaceful slumber, Law watched over you, his heart full of love and admiration for his wife. 

His wife! 

The two of you had made it through college, med school, residency, board exams, your shitty sleep schedules and really made it out the other end. 

The sight of you nestled comfortably, your hair fanned out on the pillow, brought a sense of worship over him. He gently adjusted the blanket around you again, ensuring you were snug and warm. As he settled back into his chair to work, the sound of your soft, steady breathing was the sweetest music to his ears. It filled the room with a sense of calm, a gentle reminder of the love and life you shared.

Law often found himself pausing in his work to steal glances at you, his heart pounding against his ribs. Your presence grounded him, reminded him of what truly mattered. The stresses of the day faded into the background, replaced by the serene comfort of your love. 

He marveled at your resilience, your unwavering spirit, and the way you faced each day with a smile, despite the challenges your condition brought. And then you had to go in and save him, too. With your warmth, the gentle touches and those little kisses you ghosted over him while he slept. All those nights he couldn’t sleep he was shakey and on the verge of tears and you’d bathe him and calm him down. You let him into your life and he was going to thank you every day for it. 

With you, even the mundane felt extraordinary. And as he sat there, watching over you, he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Blessed for your love, your partnership, and the beautiful journey you were on together. Life, with all its unpredictability and challenges, was perfect because he had you to share it with.

Despite the casual chaos of your busy lives, this moment reminded him of why he cherished you so deeply. Life, with all its demands and pressures, was brighter with you by his side. And as he worked, the sound of your soft, steady breathing was the sweetest music to his ears. 

“I love you.”

______________________________________________________________

Taglist: @orange-milky @xxsliverwolfxx @mochiclouds @m0rona @thealtofvalleyxdoodles

I own none of the art or characters!!

Posted on the ao3 account soon.

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a fic for almost everyone here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ And thank you guys again for 100 followers!!

[cat-anime345678]

Holy Shit

We are in a critical situation right now. Apparently it's worse than what we all assumed.

The Red Circus have kidnapped the children as hostages and will blackmail the parents, who are all politically powerful and rich, into complying whatever demand the group wants and now Anya is strapped with a bomb should the kids try to do anything to get help or be rescued.

Honestly I think it might just be a real bomb that they were going to use on one of the kids anyways as part of the ransom, reminiscent of that one pizza delivery guy that died from a bomb collar , since police thought it was fake

Considering they seem to have the background of everyone on the bus down, they likely know that Anya isn't the child of anyone "important" and would have no loss in blowing her up for their goals.

Or maybe it is just a fake and Anya will immediately find out by reading his mind,.

[stab-the-son-of-a]

No. 6 PROOF OF LIFE

Ransom Video | “I’ve got a pulse” | Screams from Across the Hall

TWs: blood and bruises mention, effects of starvation, heavy grief

First part of the story here. Part of the Vingette Era and thus set after this (“Cracking A Cold One”)

Ariel couldn’t rip his eyes away from the screen. The video was of poor quality, grainy and similar to old CCTV security camera feeds. But there was no denying it. That was his baby girl. Ariel held on tightly to his wife’s hand, trying desperately not crush her fingers, trying not to show how fear trembled in every inch of his body. Fear and panic feasted on his insides with massive fangs and claws.

His daughter, dressed up in a skimpy maid’s outfit, with her head shaved. She looked so much thinner, limbs narrow. Her gymnast build had given way to starvation. Her shoulders bowed, curled up, tense and trembling with her terror, but still she kept her head high. That was his baby girl through and through, but he prayed to God that keeping her spine straight wouldn’t break her.

“Good God,” Maria gasps. “What did they do to her?”

The video looped for the hundredth time. It was only a few seconds long, but it continued. She looked so scared. So tired. 

All he could hear in his head was Summer sobbing on the phone, admitting she was so scared. Begging him to come for her. He’d been too late. He was too late, far far too late. Months ago, he had failed his daughter in the worst possible way.

“Mi sol…” 

“Was there anything else in the package?” Ariel demanded. The frantic urge, the need to do, to try to find any clue to save his daughter, launched him out of his seat and had him tearing through the plain box.

But there was nothing. Nothing but a CD and a printed piece of paper with a troll face on it. Maria approached him from behind, wrapping her arms around him as he cracked and bended and shattered, sobs ripping up his throat.

He failed his daughter.

-

Maddie went straight the police when Dale didn’t come home that night. She came home from her shift to an empty house, no husband lightly snoring on the couch from having tried and failed to stay awake to greet her. The house had been damningly empty and she’d turned straight on her heel to drive to the police station. 

What had followed were a few of the most trying hours of her life, and yet it was only beginning. She recounted her last moments with her husband of almost twenty years. Maddie refused to believe that they were the final moments, that the very last thing she said or ever would say to Dale was a joke about not eating the leftover pizza cold while she was gone.

She hadn’t even said she loved him on her way out the door. 

Maddie remembered this abruptly, weeks, months, God only knew how long it had been, later. She remembered and she felt sick, as she watched a three second clip of Dale in some fucker’s torture house of horror. 

God, Dale looked so pale and weak. Where the fuck were his glasses? And he was shackled, too. Bruised and bloodied. Unkempt, scruffy, far too thin. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but she could see his every last rib. She’d let him eat all the cold pizza he wanted, even if he wanted to put an unholy amount of A1 sauce on it or even anchovies. 

She didn’t care to whom she’d have to sell her soul, but she needed him here, by her side again. 

She wanted her husband home. She wanted to be able to hug him, hold him, protect him and never let him out of her sight again. Maddie’s chest ached as she watched the clip repeat, again and again, her strong, brave husband whispering, “Please don’t do this,” an echoing refrain for her nightmares.

“Is that enough to trace them?” Maddie asked the detective.

The way the man shook his head was infuriating, as was the delicate way he tried to find the words to crush her hopes.

“The lab is running the note for prints and we’ve requested the CCTV to look for anyone who might have delivered the package.” 

Maddie closed her eyes, not in grief, but rage. If she looked at his pitying face for one more second she’d punch it.

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Gibson.”

[cannoli-reader]

In Defense of "The Acolyte"

I have been seeing a lot of criticism of the new Star Wars streaming show "The Acolyte" and some of it strikes me as unfair or nitpicking.

Details under a cut

"The fire on the hull of the ship is ridiculous, it's in outer space, with no oxygen."

The fire is not burning very high, and it clearly coming from some machinery. It's not a huge leap, it's not demanding the audience do the work of the writers, to assume that oxygen is venting out of the machinery, or else a flammable substance.

"The two twin sisters who have not seen each other in years, have an identical hairdo."

First of all, it is well documented that identical twins, even ones long separated, often make very similar, if not the same, appearance choices, life decisions and so forth. There have been cases with men who lived on opposites coast, who have married very similar-looking women with the same name, of the same age. Furthermore, they are said to have lived in a village before their estrangement, so it could easily have been a customary hairstyle of their community.

"The shadowy mentor figure of May, who speaks in an electronic and clearly male* voice, says that you can't kill a Jedi with steel or laser weapons, and yet, May did just that in the intro."

The person May killed was clearly not a Jedi, but a Matrix avatar given her pathetic Force powers and reliance on martial arts Not-at-all-female mentor figure is clearly speaking figuratively, and/or referring to some greater metaphysical struggle or internal conflict. At least wait to see what they mean. You cannot expect a show to drop all of its lore and philosophy in the pilot. Some people would be whining, if A New Hope was broken up for streaming, about Vader clearly lifting a CGI ship captain, since he did it only one arm, and we have not yet been briefed on the Force, nor had it made explicit that Vader has it.

*By clearly male, of course, we mean obviously female.

Everything else? Dead on balls accurate. The show is pure dogshit. For everything that made me say "Oh, good," there were two to ten contrivances or bits of idiocy stacked around it. And most of those "oh, good" moments were only in comparison to its fellow blatantly mediocre or ineptly written Star Wars shows. E.g., Trinity realizes (absurdly slowly) that May is using the Force in combat, and she pulls out a comlink and immediately calls it in to someone. That was a pleasant surprise, because Star Wars (among many other recent shows and movies, Batwoman being the first that springs to mind) have characters blatantly neglect the most basic security communications protocols so that Plot can happen.

Obi Wan Kenobi was particularly bad at this, such as the Alderaan security guard who encountered Baby Leia being chased by kidnappers who made the comic goon protagonists from "The Ransom of Red Chief" look like a Mossad or Delta Force snatch team. Rather than immediately call in his location and that he had eyes on the Princess, he dithers around and gets shot (BTW, the little shit who caused this to happen, by disobeying her parents to go running in the woods, never evinces the slightest bit of remorse for this man's death, which would not have happened if she had stayed inside, like she was supposed to. And then, when she is returned to the loving custody of her incompetent parents, she has the audacity to demand that changes be made, with the implication that these are changes affording her more agency and freedom. On the other hand, to try something of a compliment sandwich this show really does not deserve, I have to admit her lack of grief for the guard she got killed tracks perfectly, in hindsight, with her New Hope characterization of not showing the slightest bit of grief or mourning for the Jedi Master who rescued her from drug dealers, saved her from turning to street pizza when she ran off the roof of a building, saved her from stormtroopers at a checkpoint, got dragged through hot coals guarding her escape, infiltrated the 'Fortress Inquisitorious' to rescue her from torture, and finally, put his mission of guarding the boy with Darth Vader's last name, whose hiding spot had been exposed to Imperial personnel by her moron of a father, just to fly across the galaxy to return her pet droid).

/rant

Anyway, that's the kind of "oh, good" I had to pull from the first two episodes of this turd burger.

[nexttimeemptytheclip]

i was tagged by @dragonturtle (thank you💛) to share my lock screen, the last song i listened to and the last photo i saved

tagging @nickmillerscaulk @querenaxx @inyoursheets @bourbon-ontherocks to do this if you want to!

[yandere-daydreams]

There is curently a kidnaping situation in sweden where the two kidnappers are demanding 28 kebab pizzas as ransom, to be deliveredto their buddies in prison.

I get that it is a serious matter, I do, but I can't help cracking up every time the news host brings the "amount" up.

Yandere, tied to a chair: Do you love me?

Darling, still on the phone with the negotiators: I would sell your soul for twenty-eight kebab pizzas.

[notquitetwilight]

THE CULLANOS: A TASTE OF BOSTON, PART ONE

The Cullanos head to Boston to take care of some business.

“Well?” Carlisle Cullano asked his wife from across the table. “How does Boston pizza compare to Jersey pizza?”

“It doesn’t,” Esme answered her husband automatically. “Especially not ours.”

“Typical Jersey girl,” he smirked. He looked to their daughter beside her. “Rosie?”

Rosalie wrinkled her nose, looking up at him from the slice she was chewing on. “It’s too thick. I don’t like it. But then again, Jersey pizza doesn’t compare to New York pizza, either.”

Esme gave a deep sigh and threw her daughter a look. “Really?”

“What? You know I’ll always be a Manhattanite.”

“You were born in Jersey City Med,” Esme pointedly reminded her.

“Where I was abandoned,” Rose said slowly. “…To be raised in Manhattan.”

“You weren’t abandoned at the hospital,” Carlisle countered.

“She wasn’t abandoned at all!” Esme hissed before he could continue. “How many times do we have to go through this?”

“I know, I know, you were just kids, younger than I am now,” Rose waved the hand that wasn’t holding a pizza slice dismissively. “I’m over it. But I don’t know why you always get mad at me for saying I’m a New Yorker when you’re the ones who chose not to raise me in Jersey. Well, chose not to raise me at all.”

A tense silence fell over them. Rose lowered her eyes to the table of their booth as she continued chewing. Esme glowered out the window, her jaw clenched. Carlisle nudged his foot against her leg in an attempt to comfort her, but she ignored him.

It was a little over a year since the couple had gotten their daughter back. Though she had left her adoptive family and seemed to have settled into their lifestyle, the topic of their lost time together still occasionally raised its head.

The couple had had her at the tender age of 17, unbeknownst to their families. Both of them decided they were too young, too broke and already too involved in the mafia game to raise her themselves. She was adopted by the Hales, a wealthy couple of lawyers who raised her in a Manhattan townhouse and gave her the finest private education New York City had to offer. Carlisle and Esme secretly watched her grow from park benches and the back of school auditoriums. They never interacted with her or allowed her to see them, but watching her grow up safe and happy from a distance filled the void that giving her up had left.

Well, it did, until it didn’t. A year and a half ago, right before the couple finally married, Esme’s sister gave birth to her first child. The family rejoiced in the arrival of the baby boy, with Esme’s mother proudly parading her “first grandchild” around. “Aren’t you jealous, Esme?” Mrs. Platt had asked at the wedding. “You hate it when others have something you don’t.”

“No, mom, I don’t get jealous,” came her answer. Carlisle stifled a laugh at that. The death certificate of his previous wife proved otherwise.

“I always thought you’d be the one to give me my first,” Mrs. Platt continued, causing her daughter to bristle. “But your little sister has beaten you to it.”

Esme’s knuckles went white around the champaign glass she held. “She’s just drunk, baby,” Carlisle muttered in her ear. “Fuggedaboutit.”

But it didn’t matter. Esme’s moods worsened in the weeks that followed as she grieved 17 years’ worth of parenting the daughter they tried to do right by. She stopped parking outside the Hales’ Upper East Side building in hopes of catching a glimpse of the girl, or regularly checking her social media pages for updates on how she was doing. Carlisle knew it had become too difficult for her, particularly when her sister got to be a mother so openly. Mrs. Platt was right; Esme hated going without what others had. And Carlisle could never let her go without.

So one day, he pulled his yellow Alfa Romeo into the garage of the couple’s home and paged Esme to meet him there. “Hey doll,” he greeted her from against the bonnet as she entered and closed the door behind her. “I gotcha somethin’.”

She looked around in confusion. Normally when he asked her to come to the garage it meant he had bought her a new car. “What?” She wondered, but before her husband could respond, she was answered by a chorus of thumping and muffled screaming from the trunk.

“Who’s in there?” Esme asked, bored. Visitors to their home arriving by car trunk wasn’t exactly new. He grinned at her smugly as the thumping continued. “What?” She said again, but he could tell he had piqued her interest. He sauntered over to the trunk and opened it, a flurry of blond immediately lunging at him from inside. Esme instinctively reacted with a raised gun, but as Carlisle restrained the girl, her eyes widened and she lowered her weapon. “Is that…?”

He beamed at her as Rosalie struggled in his arms. Her wrists and ankles were tied, but still she writhed around. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and fear, and duct tape covered her mouth. “Take that thing off of her,” Esme commanded. “I wanna proper look.”

“Hold still or it’ll hurt,” Carlisle told the girl. She stopped wriggling long enough that he could gently remove the tape without ripping her skin. She immediately attempted to bite his hand, but he was too fast. Then came an ear-piercing screech that caused both adults to wince, but Esme was smiling.

“You wait,” Rosalie said once she was finished screaming, her voice hoarse. “Just you wait. If it’s money you want, good luck. You might as well kill me now.”

“She looks just like you,” Esme said as if she hadn’t heard her, though she didn’t take her eyes off the girl. “We knew it already, but up close, it’s crazy. I didn’t get a look-in.”

Rosalie’s face contorted to an expression of both confusion and disgust. “What the fuck…?”

Carlisle laughed at her exaggerated expressiveness; the narrowed eyes, the over-the-top frown, the grimace that caused her cheeks to apple. He had seen Esme pull that face a million times before. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he told her as they both went back to staring at Rosalie — who was attempting to naw at the rope around her wrists — with the kind of fascination people usually reserved for newborn babies.

“Carl, untie her,” Esme instructed. He gave her a hard look, thinking it was a terrible idea. She arched an eyebrow in response, and he knew better than to argue with her.

“Wait ‘til my father hears about this,” Rose grumbled as he began cutting through the thick rope. That amused him, and he couldn’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?” She demanded.

He shook his head. “Nothin’,” he tried, but he heard Esme giggle and he started laughing again.

Rosalie’s face flushed angrily as she looked wildly from her almost-free hands to Esme and then to Carlisle. “I said, what’s. So. Funny?” She said it slowly and punctuated, as if she thought he was stupid. Esme’s laugh was turning into the loud cackle she gave when she was particularly thrilled. He sniffed with a smile and shook his head again.

Rosalie was then red-faced, her eyes flashing with rage. “What the fuck is so funny, you piece of shit?”

The couple collapsed into full belly-laughs for what had to have been at least a full minute as Rosalie could do nothing but glare. “It’s funny—“ Carlisle started, pausing to try and compose himself. “It’s funny that you said ‘wait ‘til my father hears about this,’ because I am your father.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes, irritated. She clearly thought that was his lame attempt at a joke.

“It’s true, saweetie,” Esme tried to turn her amusement into a sincere-looking smile. “Your our daughter. I’m your mommy! Were you ever told you were adopted?”

“What kind of weirdos are you?” Rosalie mused, her eyes still narrowed. “Don’t normal kidnappers just tie someone up and leave them be ‘til they’re paid ransom or get arrested? What is this, some sort of house-play shit? I saw something about that on TLC once.”

“Look, princess,” Carlisle started, struggling to get the blade through another bit of rope. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’s the truth. I didn’t bundle you up in my car for money, or to hurt you. I bundled you up in my car to bring ya home, where you belong. We’ve missed you your whole life, and now that you’re a lil’ older, we’d love to make up for lost time.”

She looked silently from one to the other. Carlisle could see that it would take a while to convince her. She was suspicious, defensive, and unyieldingly stubborn. Just like her parents.

“Whadiya say, kid?” He smiled at her. “Wontcha give your ol’ man a hug?”

The last of the rope snapped and Rosalie immediately punched him so hard in the nose that it made a horrible crack. He held it as she tried getting away, having seemingly forgotten about the rope around her ankles.

The pair of them allowed her to hop around the garage as both exits were locked. Esme handed him a tissue for his bloody nose and they stood side-by-side against the car, watching Rosalie noisily hunt for something she could either free her ankles or hurt them with. It took him a second to realise Esme was quietly crying.

“Don’t worry, doll,” he put a consoling arm around her and pulled her into him. “She’ll come round eventually. She just needs time. And maybe a car, or a pony, or whadevathefuck teen girls are into deeze days. Whadeva it takes, we’ll do it.”

“It’s not that,” Esme swiped at her tears and turned to him. He was surprised to see she was smiling.

“Then what? What is it, baby?”

Esme wiped another tear away as she proudly cried, “she’s got my uppercut!”

Getting the three of them to work as a family unit had been no easy feat. After showing her the paperwork that proved they were her biological parents, the couple brought Rosalie back to her adoptive home the same evening they had taken her from it in an attempt to show her they were no danger. She didn’t tell the Hales about what had happened, instead blaming her broken curfew on losing track of time while at a friend’s house. Carlisle knew that this was more out of anger at them for lying to her her whole life than it was out of loyalty to the Cullanos. The couple returned to watching her, but this time it was on a daily basis, and they made sure she saw them either by waving across the street or approaching her if she was alone. They often arrived with bribes, but she rolled her eyes each time.

“Hi, Rosalieeee,” Esme sung one day, the two of them having waited for her to get home at the corner of her block. “How was school?”

“Get lost,” Rose muttered as she went to walk past them as usual. Carlisle caught her arm, so she begrudgingly came to a halt and rounded on them with a glare. “What? What do you want?”

“I bought us matchin’ Birkins!” Esme said excitedly, unfazed by Rosalie’s attitude. She held up her arms, each hand gripping the handles of a bag.

“I already have expensive bags. I don’t need more. You know what? I already have parents, too.”

“Who had about as much of a hand in raisin’ you as we did,” Carlisle said. “Tell me, Rosie, which nanny was it you used to mistake for your motha?”

She flinched for a second before recovering her steely expression. “I told you not to call me that. You don’t get to give me a nickname. You don’t get to ask me how my day was. You don’t get to wait around for me every single day. Seriously, you’re both stalkers. You’re already breaking the law by seeking me out before I’m 18. Stop before I call the police and report you for harassment.”

“I don’t think you will,” Esme said gently.

“Oh yeah? What makes you so confident?”

“If that’s what you wanted, you’d have done it already.”

There was a pause. Esme took her chance to hand Carlisle a bag, freeing a hand to caress Rosalie’s arm. “Look, sweetheart. All we’re askin’ for is for you to get to know us. If you get to know us, and you decide you want nothin’ to do with us, we’ll walk away, no questions asked.”

Rosalie considered this for a moment, then looked back and forth at the two of them. “You swear?”

Carlisle traced the cross-my-heart motion on his chest. “Hope to die.”

“Promise,” Esme said firmly.

She let out a sigh. “Fine. But how will it work? I can’t just disappear to go live with you. I’m in my senior year, and my parents would have the mayor turn the city upside-down looking for me.”

“Well, they work ‘til late, right? So we’ll start pickin’ you up from school, and get you back before they come home,” Carlisle said.

“No, you can’t pick me up. Friends will see me getting into some random car. Plus, I’ll have homework...studying....that kinda thing.”

“Ahrite-ahrite,” he nodded. “Responsible, I like it. Education is very impawtant.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, it seems to have played a huge role in your life.”

“How about we get you a cell that you can use specifically for us?” Esme asked. “And you can call or text us whenever you’re finished with schoolwork? We can take ya out to eat or...well, do whateva you wanna do.”

Rosalie paused again. “Do I get to pick the phone?”

“Of course,” Esme smiled. She had told Carlisle the bribes would pay off eventually.

“What about your...business?” Rosalie asked curiously. They hadn’t explicitly told her what they did, but she was bright enough to guess.

“We do most of our work at night, anyway,” Esme answered.

And so the months that followed were filled with evening family bonding. Rosalie would call or text, they’d go out to eat, do different things around NYC or Jersey City, drop her home, go take care of business, get home either a little before or after dawn, and sleep while she was at school. She seemed to enjoy her time with them; she never said she was happy to continue allowing them to be in her life, but she never again brought up wanting them to leave her alone, either. So they continued the way they were as her 18th birthday drew closer.

One evening, when the family had gone go-karting, Carlisle noticed Rosalie’s ability to drive with extraordinary speed and precision. He decided to test it out in an actual car, just the two of them, and was thrilled to discover this skill was transferable.

“Guess what, baby?” He approached Esme from behind at their kitchen counter the next afternoon, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“What?” She smiled sleepily as she prepared breakfast, though it was 1pm.

“I think I’ve found us a driver.”

“Really? Who?”

“Rosie.”

She frowned and pulled away so she could properly look him in the face. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Remember how great she was when we went go-kartin’? Well, I brought her to a track last night and she was amazin’. Turns out she’s actually really into cars — kid knows more about ‘em than me!”

“First of all, drivin’ round an empty racetrack at night is very different from drivin’ the streets when you’re fleein’ a scene or bein’ chased,” Esme said, pulling fully out of his arms and heading for the sink. “Second, Rosie’s goin’ to college.”

“Whadiyamean, she’s goin’ to college?”

“I mean what the fuck I said: she’s goin’ to college!”

“We just got the kid back and now you’re gonna send her off to some otha parta the country to go to college?”

She turned back to him with a glare. “The whole reason we left her in the first place was so that she could have a normal life. College is a normal life.”

“Normal life? She was bounced around from nanny to nanny! We didn’t give her a life with normal parents, we gave her human cash cows and babysitters!”

“Well, at least she was safe.”

“We’d never let anyone hurt her.”

“We couldn’t guarantee that. We still can’t. That’s why she should go to college like the rest of her friends.”

“What, because college is so safe for young girls? Have you neva read a newspaper?”

“Don’t tell me about the dangers young women face,” she practically growled.

“She’d be with us,” he said, his tone much softer. “Where else could possibly be safer for her to be than with the two people who’d die for her?”

She stared at the counter for a moment. “Her 18th is comin’ up,” she said slowly. “That’s her opportunity to decide if she wants to come live with us or not. If she does, she does; if she doesn’t, she goes to college like the private-school kid she is should. But I don’t wanna force her like we did last time. If she chooses us, I want it to be because she chooses us.”

“Okay,” Carlisle smiled, then added, “and she will.”

And she did. She turned 18, deciding to finish out the school year where she had always lived. After graduation, she packed her bags, told the Hales she knew the truth and that she was leaving them for good, and came to live in the Cullano house. The Hales were a little persistent in trying to convince her to come back to them, but it was nothing that couldn’t be solved by sending Emmett, the most intimidating-looking member of the crew, over to their house to smash a couple of things up. As Carlisle had envisioned, Rose started driving for the Cullanos and their team, initially just the occasional, stress-free errand here and there. But she found it brought a certain amount of thrill and excitement her life had been missing, and so she worked her way up to riskier jobs. This trip to Boston would be her riskiest job yet.

“Is everyone done?” Carlisle now asked. Esme still had a slice left over while Rosalie sat with nothing but crust in front of her.

“Mmhmm,” Rose answered. Esme mumbled something about being full.

They gathered their things and headed back to the borrowed Bugatti that Emmett had arranged for them. Though Emmett was a Brooklyn boy, Boston was his father’s city, and he had relatives all around it. Relatives that would be more than happy to see the Cullanos through what they planned to do tonight.

Rosalie set the GPS to their hotel. “How many Ivanovs are there, again?”

“Six— well, 4 Ivanovs, a Petrov and a Ryan,” Esme answered from the back.

“Who’s the head?”

“Mmm, Tatiana. Or at least she thinks she is,” Esme smiled.

“Is she the one who...did she kill Emmett’s dad?” Rosalie met Esme’s eyes in the rear view mirror. She had developed a bit of a soft spot for Emmett over her time with them.

“No,” Carlisle answered instead. “That was Katarina and Garrett.”

“Garrett doesn’t sound very Russian.”

“Garrett is the Ryan. Irish mob, like Emmett’s dad,” Carlisle said.

“They worked together ‘til he fell for Katarina,” Esme added. “So it was a real blow when the two of them killed him. A big betrayal.”

“Then how come no one’s taken them out yet?”

“They’re powerful. Ruthless. Batshit crazy,” Carlisle said.

“Look who’s talking,” Rose said with a slight smile.

“That’s why Emmett’s mother left here and raised him in Brooklyn,” Esme said. “That’s where she grew up, so she knew she’d be safe. The Ivanovs have people everywhere around Boston. And with a target on the back of every McCarthy, stayin’ woulda been a death sentence.”

Rosalie frowned then. “If they’re that bad, what are we doing here? There’s three of us— two, technically, since I’m just the wheels. Those don’t seem like very good odds.”

“There’s also Alice, virtually,” Carlisle reminded. “She’ll be there behind every camera to tell us what we’re dealin’ with.”

“Cool, so she can say, ‘hey guys, you’re about to die’ right before we die. Helpful.”

“It is helpful,” Esme said. “Even the shortest of warnin’s can buy you just enough time to save your life.”

“Besides, we’re not plannin’ a massacre,” Carlisle said. “I’m expectin’ only one to be there. We hit ‘em, we go. Then we’re even for how they fucked us over with the Kiev deal they were supposed to facilitate.”

“So it’s...a blind hit? It doesn’t matter who you get, as long as you get one of them?”

Carlisle nodded. “But it would be...convenient, if it was Tatiana.”

Once they got back to the hotel, they freshened up and changed. The couple pulled out the stuffed bags Emmett had also organised for them. They took only what they needed, a couple of guns and knives each, and shoved the rest back under the bed.

“Don’t forget my favourite,” Carlisle smirked, waving Esme’s thigh holsters in the air.

“Never,” she said, holding up two pistols that were identical to her favourites back home. “Put them on for me?”

He knelt down, lifted up her skirt and strapped one around her right thigh. Then he moved to her left as she slotted her gun into it. After buckling the left one, he ran his hand down her inner thigh, causing her to giggle. Rosalie burst through the door of their adjoining rooms and froze as she registered them, her face immediately screwing up in disgust.

“Oh, for shit’s sake,” she said. “Get a room.”

“This is our room,” Carlisle pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. “Why aren’t you in all-black?”

She was wearing head-to-toe black like they taught her, as she always did. Carlisle was dressed like an office worker from Mad Men, while Esme looked like a housewife from the 50s. Neither of them said anything.

“This isn’t one of your weird sex things, is it? Like, you can’t possibly get off on killing people together?”

The silence continued. “Ugh, don’t answer that.”

They made their way down to the car and Rosalie silently drove them to a street two blocks down from the address they’d given her. As the pair got ready, she drummed her fingers against the wheel.

“You scared?” Carlisle asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“No,” she said, a little too forcefully.

Esme leaned forward into the gap between the two front seats and put a hand under Rosalie’s chin, directing her so she could look at her intently. “Remember the plan. Stay inside the car at all times. Stay put here, lights off, engine off. Only turn it on when you see us. Or when you see people who aren’t us carryin’ guns. If that happens, you drive and you drive and you don’t ever stop. Same goes if we’re gone past, mmm, a half hour. Forty minutes, tops. There’s a loaded gun in the glovebox if you need it. Got it?” Rosalie nodded. “Good.”

“Stay safe, princess,” Carlisle kissed her on the cheek, opening his door. “Love ya.”

He closed the door and Esme took her hand and squeezed it. “Everything will be fine. But in case it isn’t, you know what to do. I love you, sweetheart.”

She nodded wordlessly again. She never said it back; it was probably still too weird for her. But she swallowed tightly. Esme brought the hand she held onto up to her lips and kissed her knuckles. She then let go and opened the door.

“Esme?” Rose choked out just as she was about to close it.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Come back to me, like you did before.”

Now Esme was the one who could do nothing but nod. And with that, she closed the door, and the couple walked off into the night.

[theycallmebecca]

Drabble: The Clause in the Will

I never planned to write a Ransom story. And then @eurynome827 posted her 2K Celebration and the opening to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice was one of the prompts. I’m a whore for anything Pride and Prejudice... and my brain automatically connected the quote with Ransom. And would not let go.

To make an already complicated drabble even harder... I decided to write it with each section being exactly 100 words. It was both a blessing (this story could have SNOWBALLED quickly) and a curse (if you’ve written a 100 word drabble, you get it).

But it’s finished and I love how it turned out! And I was quite proud of myself for the very-Eury way I ended it.

So to @eurynome827​ congrats again on 2,000 followers!

Title: The Clause in the Will

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: some language, some minor violence/threats, suggestive

Note: This is AU and it uses the characters from Knives Out but doesn’t follow the story.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“Bull. Fucking. Shit.” Ransom Drysdale muttered as he wadded up another of his late grandfather's marriage-related quote notecards. They were hidden everywhere.

It had been nearly a year since his grandfather, the famed author Harlan Thrombey, had passed away, leaving Ransom as the head of Blood Like Wine Publishing. A role that he had spent the last twenty years being groomed for.

Ransom had worked his way through the ranks of the company following college and had been prepared when the time had come.

Well, prepared for everything except his grandfather's cluttered office.

At least the houses weren't his problem.

-- -- -- --

You’d started at BLW Publishing as an marketing intern after college and you’d climbed your way to the vice president of that department in the twelve years that had followed.

You loved every single part of your job.

Or at least you had until Mr. “Call Me Ransom” Drysdale had taken over the running of the company.

He had spent his years at the company floating between departments, to learn everything he could. Which meant the two of you had worked together multiple times.

But he seemed to enjoy pushing your buttons. And knew exactly what buttons to push when.

-- -- -- --

"You told me months ago that the marriage clause wasn't legally binding," Ransom fumed. "And now you're telling me it is?!"

His lawyers avoided his gaze.

"Get out!" Ransom shouted and they scurried out.

He had seven days to find a wife and marry her.

If he didn't, he lost the company.

It was just like his grandfather to pull a stunt like this. Even from the grave.

He should just let his prick of an uncle have the company. Just to prove a point.

But he knew he couldn't.

His uncle would ruin everything.

Ransom wouldn't let that happen.

-- -- -- --

"You're not the pizza guy," you said, opening your front door to find Ransom standing on the other side with a bouquet of roses and your pizza.

"Met him in the elevator. Can I come in?"

Stepping aside, you let him in. Only noticing as he passed that his normal confident aura was missing.

"What's wrong?"

He explained everything while the two of you ate pizza.

"Walt would destroy everything," you commiserated.

"Exactly."

Then he pulled out a ring box.

"Will you marry me and help me save the company we both love from ruin?"

How could you say no?

-- -- -- --

"I got married."

Ransom had chosen a public setting to share his news in hopes that his uncle wouldn't make a scene.

The fact that it was day six of his seven day window was pure coincidence.

Glancing at his wife, he found her staring across the table at his uncle, who, Ransom soon saw, was nearly purple with rage.

"This can't be legal!" his uncle shouted over the congratulations from the others. "It should have been mine! All of it!"

Then Walt pushed his chair back and stormed out of the private dining room, his wife and son following.

-- -- -- --

Logically, you knew marrying Ransom would mean moving into his house, but you'd thought you'd have more time.

But with his uncle looking for any reason to question the legitimacy of the marriage, you and Ransom agreed it had to happen now.

The two of you packed up your apartment and then had everything you were keeping moved to his house.

To his credit, Ransom made as much room for your stuff in the common areas of the house as possible, wanting you to feel at home.

But the only place that truly felt that way was your private bedroom.

-- -- -- --

Ransom sat in the hall with Walt as their lawyers met with a judge behind closed doors following another of Walter's attempts to fight the will.

"I’ve heard rumors," Walt said, his tone was nonchalant, but it was laced with venom. "About how your wife became v-"

Ransom had his hand around his uncle's throat before Walt could make another sound.

"That is my wife," he growled. "You will not say one more fucking thing about her or I will sue you for libel. Do you understand me?"

Walt let out a squeak of acknowledgement and Ransom let him go.

-- -- -- --

You'd known Ransom for years.

But after living with him for a few weeks, you realized you hadn't really known him at all.

Work Ransom demanded the respect and attention owed to the boss.

Home Ransom was softer and wore faded blue jeans instead of three piece suits.

He liked spending Saturday mornings at the market and he loved to cook.

And boy could he cook!

The one on one time with him at home had given you a whole new appreciation for your husband.

He opened up to you about things you were sure he'd never told anyone else.

-- -- -- --

Ball buster.

That's how he'd described her the first time he had worked with her on a project.

It was the reason he had recommended her for the vice president role when it had opened up.

Kind. Funny. Caring. Passionate. 

Those were the words that came to mind now when he thought of her.

She was the type of woman who could tell a dirty joke one minute and then have a serious conversation about his upbringing.

He'd been hesitant to include her at first, but their Saturday morning shopping trips were quickly becoming his favorite activity of the week.

-- -- -- --

You loved Ransom.

It hit you like a ton of bricks as you sat in the middle of a meeting at work, a month later.

You were supposed to be paying attention, but your eyes kept going across the table to where Ransom sat.

You couldn't explain how you knew, you just did.

When had it happened? You didn't know that either.

All you knew was that he was handsome and he was all yours.

At least on paper.

The joy faded from you as you remembered the two of you were roommates. Nothing more.

You wished that could change.

-- -- -- --

Ransom didn't know when it happened, but he realized one Saturday morning, a few months in, that he was in love with his wife.

He hadn't planned to fall in love with her. He'd envisioned them being married for a few years, to solidify his role at the publishing company, and then divorcing as quietly as they had married.

Being in love complicated things.

It made him think about her happiness above his own.

Was she happy with him?

If she wasn't, was he prepared to walk away from her and the company to ensure her happiness?

Yes, he decided.

-- -- -- --

"We need to talk," he said, setting a manilla envelope on the kitchen counter.

"What's that?"

"Annulment papers."

"What?!" you asked in complete disbelief.

"I love you," he confessed. "If you're not happy, I'm -"

"I love you, too," you cut him off, joy filling your heart.

Moving around the island, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss.

"An annulment would have cost you everything," you said.

"Your happiness means more to me," he said. "Even if it meant giving everything to Walt."

"The company is yours," you told him. "Forever."

"Ours."

-- -- -- --

"Are you coming in?"

She stood in the doorway to what had been his bedroom.

After their declaration of love, he'd properly courted her.

Taking her out on dates. Sending her flowers just because.

They'd kissed a lot and had made it to all the bases, as they say, except home.

That was the plan tonight, she'd told him.

They'd gone out for dinner and then she'd asked him to take her home.

Home to their home.

To their bedroom.

Her eyes met his as she reached behind her back and unzipped her dress. Letting it fall to the floor.

[fandomstuff67]

Another fix it fic for 15x20

Hey guys! I’ve written another fix it and this time Cas comes to save Dean before he died. As usual read below or on Ao3

Bed of Roses Word Count: 1.8k

Dean could feel it, the rebar, digging deeper into his heart with every breath. He really hadn’t expected today to be the day that he’d bite it, but then again he’d always known he’d go out on a hunt, today was as likely as any other day. 

“I need you to tell me…” he gasped out, gripping at Sam’s jacket, “it’s okay.” 

It didn’t matter how many times he’d died in the past, he was still scared. He still didn’t know what awaited him in the afterlife, he didn’t know where he’d end up. He hated this, he hated that he hadn’t thought about the placement of the rebar in the heat of the moment, he hated that he was stupid enough to charge that vamp head on like that. 

After everything, he didn’t want to go like this, he didn’t want to watch Sam slowly fall apart in front of him, he didn’t want to leave Sam with that grief, but it was his time and he was okay with that. 

“Dean…” Sam choked out, tears dripped down his cheeks and Dean wished he could reach up to brush them away, to comfort his little brother in this moment, but he could barely keep his lungs working anymore, and his heartbeat was slowing. He just needed to hang on a little bit longer, just long enough to hear Sam tell him it was okay, he just needed to know it was okay. “It’s-” 

Sam didn’t get to finish his sentence because he was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of wings fluttering in the air. Dean couldn’t see anything around Sam, but Sam turned to look and Dean watched surprise flash over his features. Footsteps brushed against the barn floor and Sam stepped aside so Dean could see who it was. 

The pain in his chest was momentarily forgotten as shock and hope flooded through him. “Cas?” 

Cas smiled, blue eyes shining as he stopped in front of Dean and placed two fingers on his forehead. “Hello, Dean.”

An overwhelming surge of grace poured into his body and he fell forward into Cas’ arms, who then pulled him away from the rebar as he felt the wound heal. He gasped into Cas’ chest and his fingers curled into the soft fabric of his trench coat, never wanting to let go. 

“Is this real?” he asked as he held Cas tighter. 

“Yes,” Cas replied. 

“You’re alive?” he gasped out as what were once tears of pain became tears of joy. 

“I am.” 

Dean finally pulled away, just enough to look into Cas’ eyes. “How?”

“Jack,” Cas answered, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Of course,” Dean breathed through a small chuckle. He let his hands loosen just a little on Cas’ coat, enough for him to step back slightly. “Cas… when you… left… I didn’t… I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.” 

“You didn’t need to,” Cas replied softly. 

Dean shook his head. “No, but that’s just it Cas, I did need to, because I love you too.” 

Cas smiled, it was just as bright and beautiful as it had been when he’d let the empty swallow him. “I never thought I’d hear you say it.” 

“I’m sorry I never said it before.” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Cas replied. 

“Yeah well, still, let me make it up to you.” 

Dean let his hands make their way up to Cas’ face where they rested for a moment before he pulled the angel into a kiss. It was sloppy and desperate, but perfect and incredible at the same time, and when they pulled apart Dean couldn’t help but laugh, Cas joined in and then Dean was hugging him again, holding onto him like if he ever let go Cas would vanish in a shadow of black goo again. 

“Um,” Sam cleared his throat and Dean suddenly snapped back into the reality where he realized his brother had been watching this whole thing unfold. 

Dean turned away from Cas, but he made sure to slip his hand into the angel’s, still keeping that contact between them. “Sorry, Sammy.” 

Sam only smiled. “Don’t be, I’m glad you both finally sorted your shit out and I’m happy you’re back, Cas.” Dean grinned and let go of Cas’ hand so he could pull Sam into a hug. “It’s all going to be okay now, Dean,” Sam said, a smile in his voice.

Dean nodded as he clapped Sam on the back and pulled away. “Let’s go get those boys out of here, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Sam replied as he looked from Dean to Cas, “let’s.”

****

 Dean shifted his feet on the hay strewn ground, his nerves were firing on all cylinders and he swallowed hard to dislodge the lump rising in his throat. 

Today was the day he thought he’d never get to have, the day he was going to marry the love of his life. They’d thought it fitting to do it in the barn they’d first met in, and even though Dean had spent months trying to prepare himself for this moment, he was still shaking. 

He could smell the white rose that was pinned to his lapels, the rose that Cas had insisted he wear. Cas had also insisted on Dean in a dark red suit while he himself wore a white one, with a red rose. 

Dean looked over at Sam, who was standing proud beside him, with Miracle at his feet, a black bow tie around his neck, and gave him a nod, which Sam returned. “You’ve got this,” Sam whispered. 

“I hope so,” Dean replied.

When the music started and Dean turned to look at the barn doors as the split open once again, as Castiel emerged, clad in his suit, a bright smile on his face, and walked towards him, Dean knew that this was going to be the beginning of the best years of his life. 

Jody had graciously agreed to officiate their wedding, and when Dean took Cas’ hands in his, and let their eyes meet, he felt every bubble of nervousness pop within him. He was about to commit to spending the rest of his life with Cas, and he had never been more sure about doing anything in his life. 

Their vows were simple, merely a few promises uttered to open air, solidifying the most profound bond to ever exist on Earth. Their kiss was magical, and applause ran out through the barn. When they turned around, hand in hand, and looked at their found family, the family they’d worked so hard to expand and grow, he was sure he’d never felt happier.

Music started up from speakers around the barn and everyone stood to move their chairs out of the way while Dean and Castiel faced each other for their first dance. 

Bed of Roses, but Bon Jovi began to filter through the air and Dean let his head fall to Cas’ shoulder while Cas wrapped one hand around his waist and held Dean’s hand with his other. 

The first verse passed with them just rocking to the music, Dean drinking in the feeling of Cas’ hands around him and the press of his new ring on his finger. But when the second verse began, Dean moved to look at Cas, letting themselves separate just slightly, so they could lock eyes.

With an ironclad fist, I wake up and French kiss the morning.

While some marching band keeps its own beat in my head.

While we’re talking, about all of the things that I long to believe.

About love and truth and what you mean to me.

And the truth is, baby you’re all that I need.

“You’re all that I need,” Cas said and Dean smiled.   

As the chorus played and they swayed together, Dean began to hum to the music, and he let their foreheads come together, he let the air between them become the same, and he pressed a kiss to Cas’ soft lips.

He could smell the roses between them and the scent of his own cologne and Cas’, he could feel the eyes of their friends on their backs, but they soon melted away, and it suddenly felt like it was just the two of them, alone in this barn, the place they’d first met, the place where both their lives changed for the better, the place where it all began. 

The next verse spun around them as they swayed. 

Well I’m so far away, that each step that I take is on my way home.

A king’s ransom in dimes I’d given each night, just to see through this payphone. 

Still I run out of time, or it’s hard to get through.

Till the bird on the wire flies me back to you, I’ll just close my eyes and whisper… Baby blind love is true.

“Baby, blind love is true,” Dean murmured, only loud enough for Cas to hear. Cas grinned and Dean grinned back.

“Yes, it is,” Cas agreed.

Once the song ended and they separated, the music shifted and everyone came onto the dance floor. Sam and Eileen came first, followed by Claire and Kaia, and Charlie and Stevie came after and Jody even got Bobby to dance. Donna had dragged Doug to the wedding and they were swaying beside Jody and Bobby. Pretty soon everyone was dancing to the music and Dean looked around the room in awe at just how many people had turned up. 

Eventually, the dance partners switched up and Dean let Cas be pulled away by Claire, who demanded that she have a chance to dance with him. Dean swung Donna in for a loop and Sam pulled Jody in close as she let out a whoop of laughter. 

“I’m real happy for ya, Dean,” Donna said.

“Thanks,” Dean grinned as he snuck a glance at Cas spinning Claire in close. 

They danced the night away and tables were set up with food and drinks. It was nothing special, just pizza and cheap beer, but it was perfect and Dean wouldn’t want it any other way. 

As the night wore itself out and people began to bid the newly weds goodnight, Dean and Cas lingered, locked in each other’s arms and when it was finally just the two of them, left to their own devices, Dean slipped his hand into Cas’ and led him from the barn towards where Baby was parked. 

“Come on, let’s go for a drive.”

Dean drove them to an empty field, where they intended to watch the stars but ended up making out in the backseat where Dean fell asleep on top of Cas and Cas spent the night smoothing back Dean’s hair and kissing him softly as he watched over him. 

****

It was a long life they led, spent with family and laughter, and when Dean finally breathed his last and entered Heaven, Cas flew up to join him. Sam and Eileen followed in their wake not long after and they spent the rest of eternity sipping beers in the Roadhouse, surrounded by all the friends and family they’d lost along the way. 

Tag list (ask to be added or removed):

@anotherdowneyfan1 @tearsofgrace @quxxnxfhxll @rebelangel67 @professorerudite @adsdragonlover @wantstoflyafraidtofall @goblinwritergay

[girlpornparadise]

The Caged Bird Moans (pt 1)

Pairing: Diego Jimenez/f!Reader (Power - Starz)

Word Count: ~2600

Warnings:  It's a bit Stockholm syndromey, but that's not a real thing anyway (look it up). Not exactly non-con, but it skirts the idea, so if power disparities aren't your jam, please move along. It just real dirty. SMUT!

Personal ramble: Would anyone actually react like this to the situation I've set forth? No. But just as the pizza guy is never hot and doesn't offer you his extra sausage, this is porn people! So suspend your disbelief and don't hate on me for my bullsh*t.

I also wrote all this nonsense a week ago before I read anything from the lovely @1zashreena1 , @heresathreebee or @nicke0115 so sorry if it looks similar, I swear it's a coincidence.

"Ouch", you think to yourself but instead swallow the pain. Your arm hurts under the firm grasp of the thug dragging you from the elevator into the spacious penthouse.

"Be careful with that." Says a commanding voice from across the room.

The grip loosens, but he's still using your momentum to force you forward. You stumble, unsure of just how much danger you are in.

As you take in your surroundings the owner of the voice turns around and approaches you. He looks you up and down, examining you like a prize he had won.

"We can't afford to damage her." He states plainly, looking at the man still holding you in place.

As he examines you, you examine him right back. Whereas he is doing it in an obvious way, head nodding to rake his eyes over you, you move your eyes only, unable to control your body in this moment. You follow the carefully polished boots up past the fitted black jeans to the black buttoned up shirt with the slight sheen to it, that accentuates his frame. Everything is obviously expensive and very deliberately chosen. As your eyes settle on his face, a recognization dawns on you. Diego Jimenez. One of the heads of the Jiminez cartel. His reputation was well known to you. An unstable, merciless man whose penchant for partying made him a big name in certain circles. You were scared before, but now your body goes rigid with fear and your gaze hits the floor with force.

Though you're no longer looking at him directly you can sense his smugness and satisfaction at knowing you are now showing the appropriate amount of fear for the situation you're in. Maybe it's your hind brain telling you you are in the presence of an apex predator. Maybe it was the clipped snort he let out, tinged with amusement as he nodded with approval.

After what feels like an eternity, but was probably mere seconds, he speaks again.

"Take her to the guest room." He orders the man still firmly gripping your arm. "Lock this little bird in her cage."

Dragging you again, this time down the hall, Diego's orders are followed to completion. You are practically thrown into the room as the door slams shut behind you.

You stumble, catching yourself on the bed. You collapse onto it as tears prick your eyes and subsequently fall down your cheeks. You begin to sob, but muffle it in the covers, assuming someone is standing guard outside and not wanting to seem even weaker in such an intense situation. But the tears flow freely as the shock of what's happened slowly wears off and you begin to process the details of your abduction.

You hadn't grown up in this world, though your ties to it were strong. You were part of the Bennet family, a rival cartel, headed by your grandfather. He insisted you grow up distanced from this world. A world of violence and cruelty. A world of drugs and guns and transactions ending in death. Based on your current reaction, you couldn't help but think maybe it was because you're so weak. Both you and he knew it was true, you were too soft to be a part of the business, too kind to do what would be required of you. So he kept you away, from his city and his dealings and all of the darkness that came with it.

You were in town for a rare family visit when you were taken without warning, snatched from the street at gunpoint. They were able to do it without drawing attention, entirely professional, and you complied with their every demand as a sense of terror ripped through you.

And now here you were, trapped by a barbarous stranger who could end your life at any moment without a second thought.

As you wore yourself out from crying, you began to take in the room, determined to get your bearings. It was sparsely decorated, obviously the work of a man unattached. It was also immaculately clean, obviously the work of his maid. As your breathing slows and your senses sharpen, you become aware that the comforter you are still on top of is plush and expensive, like the kind found at a swanky hotel.

Curiosity returning with your senses, you walk over to the window that stretches from floor to ceiling and take in the impressive view of the city. If the long elevator ride weren't a clear enough indicator, the view tells you that you are in the penthouse of a very upscale building.

Next to the window is a large bathroom and you walk in. You splash cold water on your face and dry it on one of the plush towels. You can't help be momentarily amused by how well stocked the room is with soaps and lotions. There were definitely worse places to be trapped. Was this the definition of a gilded cage?

As you settle down, you take off your shoes and sit back down on the bed. You're exhausted to your core, and you sink into the mattress, wanting to disappear. You want to keep your wits about you, alert and on guard, but instead the stress combined with the late hour forces you to sleep.

You are woken up abruptly the following morning when the door swings open and you are literally dragged out of bed by the same man as yesterday. 

You're a bleary eyed, rumpled mess and the same fear and pain shoot through you as you remember where you are and how you got there. Your breathing is shallow as you try not to panic.

You've been dragged before Diego who is standing imposingly before you, hands clasped in front of him, chin slightly upward so he can look down his nose at you.

He examines you once more and you can tell he's disgusted by what he sees.

"Get our guest something to wear." He barks. "And get her something to eat. We can't bargain if she's broken."

As he turns away from you to resume whatever you interrupted, you catch the flash of the gun in his waistband and the fear settles once again in the pit of your stomach.

You are escorted back to the room forcefully and your mind is racing. You know everyone who comes through the penthouse is armed to the teeth and there's no chance of escape. You're not just weak, you're helpless. You assume you're being held for some kind of ransom, probably territory or resources as opposed to money, and you silently pray that a deal for your release is struck quickly so this nightmare can be over.

Soon after, the door opens and a housekeeper enters carrying a couple of bags of clothes. She doesn't look you in the eye and you wouldn't know what to say to her anyway. 

Once she has left, you rummage through the clothes. There's nothing there you'd pick for yourself, but you settle on a white fitted t-shirt and jeans. You carry them with you into the bathroom along with a handful of drugstore makeup you find in the bottom of the bag.

You look at yourself in the mirror and the reason for Diego's revulsion becomes clear. Your clothes are wrinkled and creased and your mascara is smudged under your eyes. You lock the bathroom door behind you, strip down and take a shower. The running water calms you and once you finish you get dressed and approximate your normal makeup routine with what you have. If you're going to put on a brave front, you need to be as put together as possible.

When you emerge from the bathroom a tray of breakfast is waiting on the nightstand next to the bed. Eggs sunny side up and toast, simple and straightforward. You devour it greedily since you haven't eaten since lunch yesterday.

The day passes with 2 more meals brought to you by the same housekeeper at the appropriate intervals. In the absence of your phone, you distract yourself with mindless TV on the rather large set opposite the bed. You don't take in much as you think about your predicament and then try to force those thoughts of the worst case scenario from your mind.

Your sleep that night is restless.

You are brought before Diego once again in the morning, shortly after you wake. 

This time you are allowed to walk under your own power, though your legs feel wobbly and your feet unsure as you approach him.

You're wearing a cotton t-shirt and shorts,  the closest thing you could find to pajamas. As he looks at you, you become painfully aware that you're not wearing underwear, his eyes seeming to stop at all the places where it should be.

You are at least able to look at him and take in more this time. He's clad in a similar black button up shirt and black jeans as yesterday, a uniform of sorts to convey his status. His hair is neatly cut and accentuates his angles, sharp jaw and well placed cheekbones. His greying facial hair gives him some earned distinction and his expression is hard and deliberate to elicit a specific reaction of fear. Through the careful tailoring of his shirt you can see that his body is sturdy and muscular. His tense posture using his frame to his advantage, making him seem larger than he actually is. You know to fear him, but he may be the most attractive man you've ever seen in real life.

He obviously cultivates an aura of power, and you can't help but be drawn to him as an Alpha Male. As you steel yourself, you dare to look him in the eyes. His eyes are cold but impossibly magnetic and you can't look away. He's looking back at you now, into you. Your heart forgets how to beat in rhythm and you swallow thickly.

He sees your fear and is clearly amused by it.

"Breakfast will be ready soon. You should go take a shower." He says, his lips curling upwards. 

"I, I was going to." you stammer.

"Good girl." It comes out as almost a purr and sends a shiver down your spine.

This time it's Diego, not his associate who accompanies you back to the bedroom. His hand is hovering above the small of your back, ushering you forward while maintaining a small distance. You enter the room and the lock clicks behind you.

You turn to see that he's still in the room and with his gaze set upon you, you begin to back away towards the bathroom,  afraid to turn your back on him. This was clearly his intended effect.

You expect him to leave, but he's doing the opposite. He is stalking forward. Your heart is pounding out of your chest and your uneven breathing becomes gulping for air.

As he closes the gap between your bodies, he repeats his suggestion. "You should go take a shower." It's not a suggestion though, it's a command.

He leans in. "Go on." His lips are close enough to your ear that his breath catches in your hair.

His thick body is now urging you through the bathroom doorway by its approach. You back through it, still transfixed by his gaze. 

You glance side eyed to your left at the shower that takes up the far wall. It's one of those large walk-in showers with a stone floor and a rain showerhead. It suddenly seems less like a shower and feels more like a trap about to spring shut.

"Take off your clothes." He says. He's not asking.

You gulp, your eyes have gone wide at the demand.

"Take. Off. Your. Clothes." He repeats in a tone that is both amused and losing patience. He raises his eyebrows slightly as he says it.

You look away, ashamed, and slowly and nervously acquiesce. You stand before him completely naked and try to avert your gaze. You are drawing your body inward, trying to conceal yourself in any way you can.

"Turn on the water." he says with his wicked smile widening.

You turn on the shower and wait for it to warm. It dawns on you that there's no shower curtain to protect you or glass wall to hide behind. You are fully exposed and will remain so.

You step under the water, unsure of what to do next. You'd obviously showered hundreds of times, but this wasn't a shower. It was a show.

"Wash yourself." His voice is quieter, more of a harsh whisper.

You grab a washcloth and pump the foaming body wash onto it. You rub it on the back of your neck and slowly work your way down to your shoulders. Your nerves have subsided a little as the water washes over your skin.

He's mesmerized by the motion of your hands and you drag the washcloth across your collarbones and down to your breasts, where you languidly rub them with the cloth as well as your free hand.

Your nipples harden at your own touch. He notices and his tongue drags over his bottom lip. You close your eyes in an attempt to momentarily escape.

When you open your eyes you notice him shift his weight and catch a glimpse of the shift in his muscles under his shirt. You get a rush as you feel the power dynamic shift slightly. You are slow to rub the washcloth down your legs and you arch your back slightly as you bend over, purposely sticking out your ass more than you naturally would. 

His eyes are dark with lust and you can feel the warmth radiating from between your own legs.

"Rub your clit." He says, reclaiming his power.

You look at him with shocked eyes and your eyebrows knit.

"You heard me." he says. "I won't ask again." His head tilting slightly.

You put the washcloth aside and tentatively slide your middle finger between your thighs to your bundle of nerves. You notice how wet you already are and using gentle pressure you begin to rubbing in circles.

You close your eyes and swallow as your walls contract and release. Your breathing gets heavier and heavier until you're panting. Panting and touching yourself for this fixated man. 

"Cum for me." He demands. "I need to see you cum." 

You think to fake an orgasm. To end this little game he's playing, but it's too late. Your finger presses harder on your clit and you tremble as the real thing rips through you. You close your eyes and cry out with abandon.

When you regain yourself you look at him. You are raw and exposed and at your most vulnerable. His mouth is in a wide smile and his eyes gleam with satisfaction. 

He reaches out to you, towel in hand. You steady yourself, turn off the water, and take the towel from him. You wrap it around yourself, suddenly panged with shame at how readily you revealed your most intimate self to this menacing stranger. Your posture closes, and reflects your return to shyness.

"Good girl." He says, and you feel the words like honey dripping in your ears.

He turns and leaves, his confident stride drawing your attention to how his jeans hug his perfect behind. 

You dry yourself off and as you get to your inner thighs you're reminded of how wet you are. How wet you are for him. You want to blame the shower, but you know the truth. You're spellbound by this man, and god are you in trouble.

[maniac-fandomist]

Hey, I'm on a leverage kick.

Episode 5, Season 1 - the bank shot job. I have a lot of feels about this but I also feel like I need to summarize a little bit so buckle up. Spoilers I guess. this is also very long sorry. Under the cut.

In which I ramble about the father/son duo and their good relationship and the bank manager growing a spine. i don’t discuss EVERY detail in the episode but go watch it regardless. it’s on imdb.tv! :D FOR FREE. needs an account.

We come in at the tail end of the team's latest job ripping off a judge. We're first introduced to this asshole smacking the ass of a young 19 year old female bank employee. She's horrified. Nate is perturbed but he is in the process of wrecking the sheevy’s judge’s. Or at least his finances

We know she's 19 b/c when the skeevy judge asks the bank manager (His name is Frank) about her, Frank chides Judge Roy with: she's 19. “Does she have a young sister?” The judge laughs. Okay. So. we already hate this guy.

The team is about to finish the job and get their client's revenge - Eliot comments he wishes they could do more than bankrupt him. Well Eliot ...

A classic stick-up bank robbery occurs just as Nate and skeevy judge is about to leave. Nate has like a full minute to get out. But he doesn't because Sophie is still in the bank pretending to be an employee.

The robbers aren't professionals just desperate people - a father and son - Derrick and Michael Clark I wanna zoom in on these two which is half the point of this post. The mom of the family (Ellen) has been taken hostage for ransom by meth heads. The son fell in with them running drugs and was blamed for a missing shipment. He blames himself clearly. It is his fault.

HOWEVER.

Even though they're both very stressed and desperate, the father NEVER yells at his son. He never gets angry. This man was just discharged from the military. His wife is kidnapped, his home attacked because his son was running with meth dealers. He took out EVERY PENNY he could. He robs a bank. Near the episode, Michael tearfully apologizes and his dad just gives him a hug and kiss.

It's flipping hot in this town, everything is terrible, the judge is sticking up the bank by now but the father never ONCE gets mad his son.

It does help that the team can spot amateurs from mile away but whenever someone breathed near Michael, his father immediately came to his defense. 

(ง •̀_•́)ง. 

I really am emotional about this relationship between one-off characters.

Anyway, the team offers to help and they give this father/son duo the money the team were gonna use to rip off the judge. Problem is... The judge is tired of being in this bank robbery and offers to give the father/ son team the money... And skeevy judge discovers his briefcase is gone from where he slid it under a desk.

He loses his entire set of marbles. The remaining marbles.

(ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

He takes Michael hostage and in the process, Nate gets shot by a random discharge.

Now HE'S sticking up the bank and angrily demands his money back. Accordingly, the hostages - which now includes Michael and his dad. (I'm sorry I don't remember his name - oh it’s Derrick) are panicked. Sophie has blown their cover, startled when Nate was shot.

Hardison: ⊙﹏⊙

Meanwhile Eliot is trying to pay the meth heads. They're late but show up eventually. The mom is with them tied up but otherwise unharmed. As they deserve, Eliot beats the crap out of them.

With the money retrieved and the mom safe they return the money to the judge in a pizza box.

Hardison speaks to judge like he's deranged and then calmly gets down his knees, hands behind like he’s surrendering while the judge cluelessly still has the gun pointed at them. Then Hardison - as an FBI agent mind - calls for the local sheriffs and the Judge is accordingly incriminated.

As the team spins a reasonable lie about the Judge’s actions, not even mentioning the Clarks (the father/son duo), the skeevy judge appeals to Fred the bank manager for him to tell the truth.

The bank manager’s name is FRANK.

Frank remembers the judge’s treatment of his employee. His eyes dart to said employee, slightly frightened and you can SEE the iron sliding into his spin.

“It happened.” he declares, staring the judge in the eye. ”exactly as they said.”

The young woman happily congratulates Frank for standing up to the judge and no one in the bank makes a move to attempt correct the story.

“Bill!” skeevy judge appeals to the head sheriff. “You know me!”

“Yeah. that’s the problem. I do know you.”

Get fucking wrecked.

the Clark father/son happily reunite with Ellen (the mom) in Nate’s Ambulance and later the team happily drive off into the sunset in said ambulance, Eliot stitching up Nate’s wounds.

... Did they steal an ambulance? What are they going to do with that? did they ever manage to return it lol

[milstrim]

I Made My World for You

Day 11: Crying

Tony had been gone for three months. He wasn't sure if gone was quite the right word to describe exactly what had happened to him, but he was sure that was how it had appeared to his daughter. She was seven, there was no way she'd understood what had been happening, or even that anyone had really explained. He doubted Rhodey had found much time to explain to his goddaughter why her father was missing, after all, the man had clearly been nonstop searching for him for months.

He hoped that Rhodey had stopped by to make sure Penny was okay though. The girl adored him beyond belief, and would listen to anything he said. Truly, he was the only reason she believed the Easter Bunny existed. He'd had the girl since she was born, an agreement being made between her and Ms. Fitzpatrick that he would keep the girl and take care of her. Well, he hadn't done a very good job these past few months.

Tony rotated his shoulder, wincing at the pain. But the arm sling would only stay for the rest of the trip before he ripped it off for his announcement. And while hugging his kid. He didn't want to scare her.

As if reading his thoughts, Rhodey looked up from where he'd been hunched over some supplies and sent him a dirty look, "You better keep your arm in that sling, Tony."

"Oh, I wasn't aware it was necessary," he joked, "You just don't get the same recognition for blowing up a terrorist base single-handedly like you used to."

Rhodey rolled his eyes, "Just keep it in the sling until we can get you to a hospital."

Tony hummed, pretending to play along with the idea of going to a hospital, though he knew he would be doing no such thing. The plane ride was amazingly long, and he barely managed to sleep until they arrived, often jerking awake, half expecting to be back in that cave. And sometimes he wished he was. Then Yinsen would be there, and he could try again. He could save his friend.

But he couldn't.

But he'd get to see his daughter. That was really the only thing that kept him calm as the plane landed, the speed and the bump making his stomach jostle with nerves. Rhodey helped him limp off of the plane when the back opened, Pepper and Happy both waiting for him. The former had a soft smile on her face, tears in her eyes.

"Watch it, coming up here," Rhodey warned, stabilizing Tony as he slid a little bit. Medics began making his way towards them, but he waved them away haughtily.

Are you kidding me with this? Get rid of them," he ordered, managing to make it the rest of the way to Pepper, "Your eyes are red. A few tears for your long-lost boss?"

"Tears of joy. I hate job hunting."

"Yeah, vacation's over," he sniffed, looking around, worry crossing his face, "Where's Penny? How's she been?"

Fear and apprehension fleeted across both Pepper and Happy's faces, and Rhodey tensed up beside you. It made his blood run cold and his heart clench.

"What? Where is she!?" he demanded, and Rhodey winced.

"She's...last month she was taken." Tony drew in a sharp breath, his eyes flashing with panic, "We've...had no contact. No ransoms or--or anything. Obie said he'd lead the charge looking for her while I look for you, and I've been trying to split my time, but..."

"Let's go."

 ---

A month. A full month. That's how long Penny had been gone, and Tony hadn't been around to protect her. And there'd been no contact...he didn't even want to think about why she must've been possibly taken. Hopefully they were just looking for ransom, and now that he was back to pay a ransom he'd get to see her again. To keep her safe.

Before Tony had headed home he'd still called the press conference, much to Pepper's chagrin and everyone's deep confusion at his announcement. He'd hated every minute he wasn't looking for Penny, but he'd had to rectify what horrors he'd done to the world. He couldn't leave his company, himself, to continue making those mistakes. Those decisions. Not when he could shut it down.

Turns out, his company didn't like it, and was now claiming PTSD and separation anxiety from Penny being missing. The PTSD was 100% not true, but they had a point at the anxiety. After the conference he'd sped back home, hastily greeting Jarvis and going down to his lab, starting his search.

"Welcome home, boss," Jarvis greeted as he walked through the door, the house lighting up, "I've kept the bots from destroying the lab while you were gone."

"Thanks," he said hastily, heading down the stairs, clapping for thee lights to his lab to spring on, "Fire it up, and get me everything you have on Penny's kidnapping. We're finding her."

"Yes, sir."

He combed through footage with a tired yet painfully critical eye, trying to find where his daughter had been taken. Because he couldn't lose her. He couldn't lose Penny, who was bright smiles and big hugs and ice cream after they put her report cards on the fridge. She needed to be safe. To be in his arms.

Penny had been taken while she was at school. Happy had been two minutes late, just a little further down in line, as the camera on barely managed to capture the men picking up a crying Penny. A teacher rushed over, but it was too late, and the minivan had raced off. With his kid.

"Follow it," he ordered, and Jarvis did, switching cameras to try and catch where they had gone. But Tony knew it wouldn't be that simple, not if she'd been gone for a month, and soon enough, the minivan was gone. Without a trace. It wasn't even that it had disappeared, but that the footage had cut out, "Where's the rest of it?"

"This is the last known location of the van, sir."

"Spread out for the next hour in a 100 mile radius, find it."

"I already did that, sir. Three vehicles matching the car's make did not share the license plate and were tracked to find no Ms. Stark," the AI explained, and Tony banged his fist on the table in frustration. He couldn't lose her, not Penny. She deserved to live, to grow up and live her life to its absolute fullest, to make the changes he knew she would make. Because she was unstoppable. But Tony's incompetence might be what stopped her.

"Open a new file, J, and expand your search as far as you can; the van, facial recognition, the whole nine yards. We're gonna find her, and we're gonna be ready."

 ---

Penny was scared. She was cold and her body bruised from hits that would sometimes rain down from her kidnappers. Because that was what she was. Kidnapped. She was hit often, but mostly left alone in a small bedroom that had little more than a mattress on the floor and a thin, scratchy blanket.

Daddy had been been gone for forever. He'd said he wouldn't be away long, just a few days, and when he came back they'd go to the movies. But he'd been away longer than just a few days. Uncle Rhodey had come back after a week and a half, talking to a bunch of strangers about her daddy being missing and the search to find him.

She'd cried a lot while Auntie Pepper had taken care of her, had had a harder time sleeping. She'd had nightmares, but she was too old for nightmares. A girl in her class had told her so.

The days had stretched since Daddy had been gone, each worse than the last. She usually didn't see Uncle Rhodey either, who sometimes stopped by with a gift and a hug all while assuring her that she was looking for her daddy.

And then she'd been gone too.

She'd been taken at school, taken from car to car with a bag over her head until she'd found herself in this small room. She wasn't sure how long she'd been here, but her skin crawled with nerves and her heart ached with longing. She wanted to be home. Home where it was warm and the blankets were soft and Daddy would always give her a hug if she felt scared. She wanted to be anywhere but here.

Penny felt tears stream down her cheeks for the millionth time since she'd been here, and she didn't bother to wipe them away. What was the point? She'd just cry more later anyway. But maybe she should stop. She was really thirsty, and they had yet to bring her her water and cold soup that she'd been eating so long she couldn't stop dreaming of pizza and chicken nuggets.

The girl sniffled, trying to quiet her cries. They didn't like it when she cried, and the thought made her tense up in anticipation of being hit. And just as the thought crossed her mind, there was a resounding CRASH!!

She flinched at the noise, scrambling up in fear and pushing herself into the corner as more crashes sounded above her. There were mechanical whines and yells of anger, and though it felt like they lasted forever, she was sure it had barely been two minutes.

She strained her ears when suddenly all the noises stopped, no more yells or crashes from upstairs reaching her. But then there were footsteps, sort of. They were loud and heavy, booming as though a monster were shaking the house, and Penny shook with it, trembling against the corner. She could barely look at the door for her fear as each stomp grew closer and closer. Until they stopped outside her door.

The door swung over rather harshly, and suddenly she was staring wide-eyes at a robot. Well, an android, since it was human-looking. It was red and gold, and it stared at her, and she stared back, the silence between them tense.

And then the android took a step, and she screamed.

"No!! St-stay away!" she tried to yell, putting toughness into her voice, only for it to break. The android paused, and then it kneeled down in front of her, reaching up its head. She watched, unable to look away and unable to stop shaking, as it put its hands around its head and pulled, revealing-- "Daddy?"

"Hey, Shortcake," he mumbled, smiling a little, his eyes flitting over her, "It's just me, hon. Just me. I came to take you home, okay?"

"Where--where have you been?"

"Overseas. I was trapped, like you were, and I got home. And now you get to go home now, okay?"

"Are you a robot now?"

That made him smile a little wider, "No, this is a suit. I'll show you more about it when we get home. Can I come closer?"

She nodded. Daddy stood up, his steps still heavy as he approached, but instead of cowering, she reached her arms out, allowing for him to scoop her up and press a kiss to her nose.

"Are you sure you're not a robot?" she asked, suddenly very sleepy as she clung to him. Daddy shook his head, still smiling, as he picket up the scary robot head.

"I'm sure."

"What about a superhero?"

He paused at that a little, and suddenly he looked sadder, "I don't think I'm the hero type, Pen."

"That's bullshit."

"Penny!"

"What?"

He shook his head again, walking them through the door to outside. Outside which she hadn't seen in so long, "I'm gonna have to start a swear jar, aren't I?"

"You don't have to."

"Oh, I love you, Bambina," he said fondly, bumping his nose against hers before putting his mask on, the eyes going from black to blue, "Ready to see the city?"

[srprincess]

Remember Fictober? I know it’s December now, and October seems a year away but I’m still here! Updating slowly!

Prompt 19 “Yes, I admit it, you were right.”

Check Please Spookydoo fic Chapter 14 (14?!?)

There was a buzz of conversation in the kitchen. Right up until Will and Nursey walked back into it. Then it was replaced by sudden silence and eyes glued down at phones, or whatever else is handy. In Holster’s case a calendar, two years out of date, that Will never got around to replacing or removing from its spot by the doorway. His lighthouse was December, and he figured he was entitled to keep it up.

“Real subtle,” Nursey said before dropping to a mock whisper directed at Will. ”They think we don't know they've been talking about us this whole time.”

Will choked back a snort of laughter.

 After an exchange of somewhat guilty looks, Chowder was the first one who braved breaking the silence, “All right again?”

“Uh, yeah. About that,” embarrassed, Will rubbed the back of his neck. A nervous habit, one he’d never managed to shake. ”I’m sorry for blowing up on you guys. That was - not good. At all. So, yeah. Sorry.”

They tried to assure him it was fine, but he knew better and told them as much. “You guys can't help that you pushed too hard, when I never let on that I was that upset. If I had said, I don’t know, it might have been different. But I didn't and that's on me.”

“That may be so, but we need to do better too,” Bitty said before pushing a plate full of crumble at him.

Will’s mouth quirks, ”I feel like we've fallen into this cycle where you shove food at me, I tell you that you didn't have to-”

”And then you sit and eat it anyhow. Glad you've caught up to the program. Now sit, eat.” Bitty says, sticking the fork in and stepping back.

”Only on the condition that we drop the ’who’s more sorry than who’ contest.”

”And if I don't agree and take back your dessert?”

”All I have to do is-” Will smirked and held the plate over his head, out of Bitty’s reach. Pretty pleased with himself, he did not expect the quick hip check and nearly dropped the plate, allowing Bitty to easily grab hold of it again.

Calls of ’Niiiiice!’ ’Check that out!’ and ’Get it Bits!’ came from the others.

”You were saying?” asked a, justifiably smug, Bitty.

”I’m sorry, you're sorry, everyone is sorry. Can I have my dessert back, please and thank you?” Will answered, holding his hands out hopefully.

Bitty handed the plate back. ”Figure we’re about even now, agreed?”

Will nodded his agreement and dug in on his cobbler before it could be taken away again.

 He only managed a couple bites before Jack stood and spoke up, ”I have to say, we do owe you one more apology.”

”Sweetpea, he just said-"

“No Bits, I’ve been thinking about it. Sometimes we get wrapped up in the whole story that we’re chasing - and this is a great story - but we forget these are actual people and that’s not right. Look what we've been doing here.” Jack motioned to the rest of his friends sprawled out around the kitchen and dining area. ”Here we sit in his home, where we practically pushed our way in. We’re digging through his family, questioning him about his friends. Uninvited,” Will tried to interrupt, but Jack carried on like he had a set speech in his head and nothing was going to stop him. ”He couldn't be more of a private person. Lives out here alone, practically on the edge of the country. We were literally told to leave him be. And here we are anyway. Over something that happened long before he was even born. It's one thing when we choose public life, but even then - think if someone came to ours poking around,” Jack visibly shuddered at the thought, ”I don’t even want to think about it. But you know that a little yelling and a door slam would just be the start. What we have done is worse than that, because he never made that choice.” Jack turned back to Will, ”Barging in here and putting demands on you was wrong, and I am - no, we are - very sorry for how we have acted and how we upset you.”  

After a pause - because what was he supposed to say to all of that? - Will went with a, very true, observation. ”I think that’s the most words I’ve heard you say yet.”

”That’s it? That’s your takeaway? You don't want to tell us off or to leave, or- ” Jack replied, seeming surprised.

”Ayuh, that and I’m still sorry. I should have said it was bothering me instead of letting it all build up bigger than it was and then blowing. And you're wrong. You might have showed up on your own, but I did both invite you in and offer to help. Yelling and storming off? That’s no way to be.” He’d been told off for his temper often enough over the years that he didn't have to think too hard before the echo of lectures past came back to him. He thought maybe it had gotten better but that night showed him it might have had more to do with the lack of other people to rage at than personal growth.

Jack seemed mostly relieved, but, ”-you aren’t going to ask anything else?”

Will, unsure where Jack was going with the question, replayed the, for lack of a better word, speech through in his head. ”The public life thing?” Jack nodded, and so he asked, ”I mean, I guess - Should I know you?”

Jack frowned, “I don’t want to say it like that, sounds, ugh.”

Holster pointed out, ”I'm pretty sure that's the kind of question you would have to punch yourself in the face for answering yes to.”

“Yeah, would have to ask Shitty, but I think it's in the revised bylaws,” Ransom added.

“Well, in any case, if you wanted me to know you’d tell me so I don’t see where it matters. You want privacy and if there’s anyone that should know to respect that, it’s me. So, there we go.” Will told Jack, letting him off the hook. Pointing at his plate, he asked, “Now can I enjoy the rest of this?”

 After that everyone settled, and conversation went back to what seemed to be normal. Mix of random chitchat and plans for the rest of the trip. It was comfortable, the house seeming more lived in than it had for ages. Will couldn't help but think, not for the first time, how quiet it was going to be when they left. He’d gotten used to this so quickly and, even with the hiccups, thought he would be sorry to see it end.

Almost on cue, Farmer yawned and said “We should probably be headed out here soon. Getting late.”

“You aren’t waiting for the others?” Will asked.

”Shitty and Lardo?”

He nodded, ”Unless you have any other spare friends hiding around here somewhere.”

”Not that we brought with us!” Chowder helpfully - maybe even cheerfully? - answered. “They checked in while you two were, um, out. They’re camping for the night. Said they’d see us for breakfast.”

“Oh alright then. Did you still want to meet up tomorrow afternoon?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ransom told him. ”That’ll give us time to check on a few things. I saved a sat image from Maps and circled your neighbor’s place.  The realtor isn’t open until 10 am according to their site, but once they are I'm going to send that in and see what they can tell me.”

”Okay, and Nurse and I are headed to the cottage first daylight. I'm sure I’ll be back here long before you guys are done.”

“First light?” Derek asked mournfully.

“First light-ish.” Will compromised.

“First light plus time for leftover pizza and two coffees?”

“Fine, but clean off the counters set the pot up now.”

”This is practically domestic,”  came a whisper from somewhere in the direction on the table. Will wasn't sure from who exactly, because he was distracted by the clear up. Once the others started gathering their things, he moved on to hooking some of his lights up to their respective chargers and checking batteries in the rest. He left the borrowed vests and coats in a pile by the back closet for Future Will to deal with. He might like things relatively tidy, but he was no saint and it had been a night.

 Just as Will was finishing that up, he heard Jack calling from the front door to ask if everyone was ready.

”Not quite,” Bitty told him. “Nursey still needs his shoes and coat.”

”Uh, actually...I’m staying. Dex asked.”

Will peeked around the corner just in time to see Bitty’s eyebrows hit his hairline, and - was that a blush dusting Nursey’s cheeks? Hard to say from that far away, but he let himself think that maybe he wasn't entirely off the mark then with those looks he thought he saw? Interesting. Something to think about. Something to obsess over and probably a reason kick himself when remembering fast he backtracked when he asked him over earlier.

Even straining his ears, he couldn't hear what Bitty said next, but Nursey told him ”Oh my God, just go,” and pushed him out the door, laughing.

“What was that about?” Will asked, after joining him at the door and sliding the lock.

“You don’t even want to know,” Nursey told him. “You tired yet?”

“I know I should be, and I’ll regret this come morning but...Not really?”

“Same. I could stand some cleaning up though. About those clothes you said I could borrow-”

“Oh yeah, let me just go and grab them.“

 Nursey followed him down the hall to his room. After a quick dig through the drawers, Will handed over another worn in t-shirt and a pair of flannel plants.

Nursey held up the shirt, ”Are you sure I didn't return those clothes?”

”Yep.”

“I only ask, because I would swear this is the same one you loaned me last time.”

”Promise. The shirts were on sale, and I liked ’em well enough I bought a stack.”

”You bought a stack. A stack of shirts. Identical?” Will nodded, and Nursey shook his head. ”You buy your clothes by the pile. That is - I don't even know, ” he laughed. “It's either the funniest or saddest thing I've ever heard, and I'm not sure which.”

Annoyed, Will tried, too slowly, to grab the shirt back, “If you're too good for my shirts-”

“Chill, it's just chirpin’,” Nursey told him, already headed to the bathroom across the hall.

Will suspected chirping was actually code for trying to piss him off, but let it go anyway.  No point in shouting at a door. He grabbed his own change of clothes, another pair of flannel pants and yes another matching shirt. He thought about grabbing a different one, but these were already broken in and comfortable, damn it.

By the time he was done with his own shower, Nursey had already finished and was back in the living room checking out his shelves. He looked, very deliberately at Will’s shirt and his damn eyes practically sparkled with the laugh he was holding in.

”Don’t even,” Will warned him.

Nursey bit his lip and held up his hands, false image of innocence. ”I wasn't - I said nothing!”

”And you said it loudly. Pick a movie or something. They're in the drawers,” Will pointed below the bookshelves. “I’m going to make some popcorn.”

“How can you still be hungry?”

“I'm not, really, but you can't have movies without popcorn. You don't have to have any.”

When he came back with the bowl Nursey was still flipping through the DVDs.

”You haven't found anything yet?” Will asked him.

“There's too many choices!”

Okay, maybe that was fair. He did have a pretty extensive collection, covering nearly every genre. ”No cable out here, and it’s not like I’m about to put a dish on the lighthouse ya know. Just pick anything.”

”Anything? You sure?”

”Why not? I said your choice, and I like it all or I wouldn’t have it.”

Nursey held up an old Disney DVD that Will had forgotten he owned as if daring him to shoot it down. He shrugged to say why not and popped it in the player. Lilo and Stitch was a solid choice, and who didn't like a cartoon at the end of a rough day?

 To spite his earlier protest, Nursey must have actually wanted the popcorn, Will thought to himself. He'd ignored the entire rest of the long couch to flop nearly into Will’s lap after he’d tucked himself into his usual corner and grabbed a large handful out of the bowl. Will could have sworn he felt eyes on him a few times, but each time he looked up Nursey was either watching the screen or down at the bowl so he figured he must be imagining things. Like how he thought he was going to grab his hand when he was actually digging for the perfect buttered piece of popcorn. Totally his imagination. Yeah.

After both the popcorn and the movie were halfway to finished Will decided Nursey had also been lying about not being tired. With a smile, he grabbed his phone off the side table and snapped a selfie featuring the man currently sleeping on his shoulder, mouth open and tiny bit of drool about to drip onto his own shirt. He told himself he was saving it because it would be good for some ’chirping’ of his own later. Right. Why else? So what if it was a decent picture of himself too. And proof he’d associated with another person.

He turned down the volume on the tv and pulled up a mindless game on his phone, settled in to kill a little more time. He didn't want to disturb Nursey, and it wasn't like he was ready to go to sleep yet anyway. He had trouble falling asleep most nights as it was, and he didn't think his mind was going to quit spinning any time soon. Between game levels, he switched over to his browser and stared at the screen. Very determinedly NOT googling the man sleeping on him, because - why again? Oh yeah, that would be weird. Even if he was apparently some sort of author with at least one other famous friend. It would be beyond awkward if Nursey were to wake up and see him snooping. And the whole privacy thing. Not bullshit, an actual legitimate reason to leave it alone. That’s what he told himself anyway, as he resisted temptation and switched to a different game and started playing.

After about the 1000th round, Will finally dropped the phone and joined Nursey in sleep.

 A weight settled over Will and pulled him back awake. At first he thought it was Nursey, but no. Too light for that. He wasn't sure how long he’d been out, but it was still dark out. From the side of the couch he heard a whispered ”This is so cute” and his eyes snapped wide open. Before he could shout, his ’neighbor’ put her fingers to her lips and hushed him.

”Hi.” she whispered, nervous.

”You. Lou. Hi.” Smooth. Real smooth Will. He mentally slapped himself. At least he’d remembered her name this time. He looked down to check if Nursey had woken, but he was still out cold, now covered in the same blanket he was. That must have been what woke him. He looked back up and just stared at her, for the first time catching a flicker.

”So...I guess you know now, huh?”

”It’s true?” he asked, mindful to keep his voice down.

She nodded, ”Depending on what exactly you think you know...mostly, at least.”

”Were you ever going to tell me?”

”How mad would you be if I said no?” She caught his look, ”Never mind, look who I’m asking. Of course you're upset. You know, at first I thought you knew. You kept trying to steer the tourists away all those years.”

”That's because-”

She waved him off, “I figured it out. You just really don't like outsiders. Or people in general. Most of them, in any case. Seems this handsome stranger is an exception though. Second time keeping company in as many days, if I'm not mistaken.”

Will blushed.

”Could it be that making friends wasn't the worst thing in the world?”

“What do you want me to say? Yes, I admit it, you were right. This hasn't been entirely awful.”

And it wasn't. Except for feeling like he somehow lost his friend, even if she was standing right there. And questioning what he knew about - well, everything. That had been awful.

”About, umm,” he felt ridiculous even saying it, but he had to ask, “ghosts. Not you, but-”

”Not to change the subject?” she countered.

”No, absolutely to change the subject. But I also want to know. Need to know really. Are there others or is it just you?”

”There’s others.”

”Here?” Will looked around the room. Thought of his parents and other family long gone. Were they still here? If they were, why hadn't he ever seen them?

She picked up on his meaning, ”Not here here. Some echos.”

“What’s an echo?” Will asked.

She took a moment to think before answering, “I think of an echo as a shadow of a person. They aren’t there, but the feelings left behind are. Occasionally you can see things they often did repeatedly replayed. Like your great grandfather walking the deck. He’s not there, but can still be seen sometimes.”  

That explained some interesting calls he gotten during his few ventures out of town. “Anyone from when you-” Will struggled with how to ask what he wanted tactfully.

”When I died? I don’t think so. If so, I’ve not seen them. And I’ve looked.”

Will thought about her concern for him being lonely and started to understand it better. ”I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Not everyone stays, and that's better honestly. And I don't know how long-” she stopped to take a breath that Will was now sure she didn't need. Must have been a habit left over from before.

”I've been pushing things and it’s getting tougher to hold on. That storm? That's been happening more and more when I try to force being present too hard. I’m the oldest I know of and I'm not sure but I think my-” Her entire self flickered, and Will sure as hell rubbed his eyes at that, then she muttered, ”Not again. This is why I've got to go. Too much at once and I lose the grip. I'll try to be back, on my word.”

”But wait-” Will started, but it was too late. She was gone. Unfortunately, he was too loud, and Nursey woke up.

 ”Did you say something?” Nursey asked, voice scratchy with sleep.

Will wasn't sure if he should say anything about his visitor. After all, what if he had imagined the whole thing. Wishful thinking, though who would wish for a cut off unhelpful conversation, he didn't know, but still. ”Umm maybe? I don't know.” he answered vaguely.

Nursey squinted his eyes ”You don’t know?”

”Do you always repeat other people?” Will deflected.

”Do you always say weird shit?”

”Maybe I talk in my sleep.”

”Do you?”

”How am I supposed to know? Who’s gonna tell me? Anyway, we should go to bed. Our beds I mean. Separately. So I won't disturb you in case of future talking.”

”I would talk about this more, but I'm still tired.” Nursey pulled himself to his feet and then offered Will a hand up. ”Remind me to interrogate you further in the morning.”

”Of course.” Will lied, hoping he'd forget the whole strange exchange.

Before leaving the room, Will took a good look at the blanket on the couch. If he needed any more proof she was really there, that would be it. The blanket in question was a quilt his mom had sewn for him. He knew for a fact the last time he saw it was when he packed it away in a box of things he couldn't deal with looking at right after the accident. A box that was shoved deep into his parents’ closet before he locked the room. He knew he hadn't opened it up, and who else could have gotten in?

Still, he kept quiet. Even after talking to her, it wasn't like he had anything helpful to tell the rest of them. It was more personal, he reasoned.

 Will paused in the doorway when he showed Nursey to his room. He didn't even realize they were holding hands until it was time to let go. He wanted to say something, and it looked like Nursey did too, but instead, after an awkward moment that hopefully felt longer than it actually was, they both just said goodnight and headed to their own beds.  

[brittle-bone-gabe]

Please Take him Back

Summary: 13-year-old Claptrap gets kidnapped by bandits, they were going to use him as ransom, but the child had other plans...  Read of Ao3: Here

Lilith couldn’t help but take note of how quiet it was around Sanctuary today. It was unnatural, normally it was so noisy and loud and... She spun around in the map room, still holding onto the ECHOdevice in her hands, her eyes wide. Claptrap. Where was Claptrap? Normally the 13-year-old was bouncing around the map room, speaking a million miles a minute, driving everyone insane while they were trying to work on finding the Vault. Now without him and the room was silent it felt like there was a void, a void that actually made Lilith sad and lonely. 

“Whose seen Claptrap today?” Lilith called over the ECHOcommunicator as she walked out of the room, heading downstairs and outside the building. “He’s not with me.” 

There was static on the other end of the communicator. The Firehawk walked through the streets of Sanctuary. If Claptrap wasn’t with her in the map room he was normally found in the dumpster area where the last living CL4P-TP Unit lived. They were often found eating gross, thrown out pizza that Lilith had told the boy a million and one times to not eat because that was disgusting. Since the kid thought he was a literal CL4P-TP Unit he always used the excuse that he couldn’t get sick because robots don’t get sick. Then would proceed to flip her off with the pizza hanging out of his mouth as he and the real robot would kick back, laying on garbage. 

“What’chu want?” The familiar, yet obnoxious CL4P-TP Unit called, squirming out of his cardboard box house. “Get off my lawn!” 

“Where’s Claptrap?” Lilith asked, folding her arms over her chest. The little robot pointed to himself with his clamps for hands, if he could have a confused look on his face it’d be there. “No, not you. The...” She held her hand up to her side, measuring about how tall Claptrap was. “The other one.” 

“Is he not with you?” 

“N-”

“Oh god!” CL4P-TP yelled in his annoying high pitched tone, putting his clamps on the sides of his... head. “Where is my son?! What did you do! Answer me!” He reached up, grabbing Lilith by the arms trying to shake her.

“Chill out!” She said, smacking him away, “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”

“You better find him or I’ll... I’ll...” the little robot backed up, trying to think of something cool to say. Something.. threatening. “I’ll move every piece of furniture you own two inches to the left! Haha! You’ll keep bumping into everything, you fool!” 

Lilith rolled her eyes, walking away from the rambling robot.

“He’s not at the bar,” Moxxi finally responded over the ECHOcommunicator. Another place Claptrap would frequent, scamming people gambling, as he was able to use his ECHOeye implants to calculate what cards someone else had. Whenever the people playing poker with him caught onto what he was doing Moxxi had to shoo him out for about two hours before letting him back in. Sometime she would let him stay if he tipped enough, which the boy always gave her a nice tip just for being a nice person. 

“Not here either, thank Gods,” Marcus, the arms dealer in Sanctuary added, as sometimes Claptrap would hang out there, taunting and annoying those who were in the shooting range to purposely mess them up. Marcus would let him too, the more time Claptrap made them mess up the more time and money they would have to pay to keep at the shooting range. 

“Okay, well, someones got to have seen him, right?”

“Who we talkin’ about?” Brick’s voice now came through. 

“Claptrap.” 

“Oh, yeah... I have no idea.” 

“Thanks...” Lilith let out a sigh, heading back to the map room when an unknown transmission was coming through. “Claptrap?” She asked. 

“Attention, Vault Hunters!” A rough, on the verge of crazy sounding voice came through the ECHOcommunicator. Lilith narrowed her eyes as she stopped walking to listen to what they had to say. “We may have something you want.” There was shuffling on the other end of the transmission as the ECHOdevice was being moved around. 

“You guys should reaaaaally redecorate,” Lilith heard Claptrap’s voice, her eyes going wide staring down at the ECHOdevice, “Like, I get you’re baddies and everything... but headquarters is key! Clean up a little! If you feel comfortable at home you’ll feel comfortable when you’re out there killing innocent people!” 

“Shut up!” The same voice shouted at the 13-year-old. 

“Oookay!” 

“Where is Claptrap?!” Lilith demanded, getting angry. 

“We’ll return him safely to you... for a fee.” There was laughing in the background of the transmission, making Lilith even more furious. They literally kidnapped a child just to get at them. 

“How much?”

“Give us all the Eridium you got and we’ll call it even.”

Lilith thought about it for a moment. Eridium... or Claptrap? She opened her mouth to speak, until she heard the 13-year-old speak again.

“Like, look, listen, are you listening to me?” He had said all in one breath, “If you just move this here...” She could hear him moving something around, “and this... here... Look at that! You already have a more open area! Be open with your area and be open with your feelings! I should start charging for therapy sessions. That’ll be ten dollars.” 

“Eh...” Lilith finally said, “keep him for a bit.” She didn’t wait for the bandit on the other side to respond, she hung up on the transmission before heading back up to the map room. If these bandits wanted Eridium so badly they wouldn’t hurt Claptrap too badly, besides, the kid could handle himself if he needed to. 

                                                               -----

The bandit leader stared down at his old, beat up ECHOdevice that obviously seen some better days. He couldn’t believe that they just refused to pay to get this child back. Even after everything they had to do to bait him. When the Bandits first saw the kid make his way out of Sanctuary via a tiny hole in the wall that only he could fit through, they tried luring him with promises of money and Eridium. When that they didn’t work they tried some variation of saying they knew where the Vault Key was and needed someone like him to come get it. No, what did it was promises of a pizza party and he climbed right into their vehicle. 

The leader turned around, looking at the kid who somehow managed to squeeze out of the rope they had used to tie him up with earlier. He was now sitting on their counter, kicking his feet back and forth, leaning back on his hands. At least he stopped moving their stuff around... 

“Y’know, this party kinda sucks!” He said loudly, readjusting his headband that had wub wub wub printed across it in red and a CL4P-TP Unit’s eye attached. “I was expecting pizza... music... babes... dancing...” he looked at the bandit leader whose eye was twitching in response, “I mean, I don’t know what babes are, but I’d expect you guys to have them.” He pushed himself off the counter, walking up to the leader. “You need to try harder with your parties! Do you even have a funky beat?” 

“A-” 

“Doubt!” He turned around, climbing back up on the counter, standing on it so he could see all the bandits who were gathering around in the room. “You guys need to get it together! Who has the pizza? Where’s that? That’s what I was promised and I want it.” 

“There... is... no... pizza!” The bandit leader yelled, slamming his fist against the wall in frustration, causing the other bandits to jump and flinch, but the kid just folded his arms over his chest, looking down at him as he was giving him a small pout. “We lied to you! What don’t you understand about that?!” 

“Nice. You lied. To me. An impressionable child. Someone better get me a pizza in the next five seconds or there will be tears and violence.” Claptrap reached down at the holster at his side, expecting his pistol to be there, but of course the bandits took it when they got him in the vehicle. “Well... I guess there will only be tears... So not only did you lie but you stole from me! This party sucks. You guys suck.” 

“...we don’t suck...” one of the bandits mumbled under his breath. 

“You do suck!” Claptrap looked at his imaginary watch, “it’s been over five seconds so...” He took a deep breath in, letting out a horrible, annoying, ear bursting screeching that caused most of the bandits to cover their ears to avoid going deaf. ‘Tears’ to Claptrap just meant screaming and throwing a tantrum until he got his way, and with how annoying he could get he always got his way.

“Someone go order a pizza!” The bandit leader yelled over the screeching, his hands plastered over his ears. Two of his bandits left the room to go do that immediately. “We’re getting you your pizza!” He shouted at Claptrap, who stopped at once. 

“Better be extra cheese, extra sausage, and extra love!” He looked at the leader. “Make sure they say that last part, I am not kidding. I am feeling severely unloved right now and need the validation.” 

The bandit leader grumbled under his breath, calling Claptrap’s orders into the other room as they were on the phone with the only pizza place in this sector of Pandora. If keeping this child happy and quiet meant that they would eventually get their Eridium from the Vault Hunters, then fine. Whatever they had to do, right? They were going to make a profit from this... right? Please, god, let there be a profit. 

When the leader turned around Claptrap wasn’t there anymore. Oh, shit. Where did he go? How could someone who was so loud move so silently? He looked everywhere, thinking that maybe he somehow got out. 

“Hey, where did you-” When he walked into the other room he saw Claptrap digging through the box of tapes, trying to find something that would be just right for this ‘party.’ “Get outta there!” Claptrap waved an arm behind him, head still in the large back as he was throwing the tapes he wasn’t interested out and onto the floor. “Kid! Get out of there!” He tried again. 

When Claptrap pulled his head out of the box, his headband was covering his left eye and he was covered in dust since nobody touched that box in years. He was holding a single tape in his gloved hands, a goofy smile on his face as he readjusted his headband again. 

“This! This will surely get the party jumpin’!” He said happily. Claptrap walked over to the leader, holding up the tape to him. Yeah, he clearly didn’t understand what kinda danger he really was in here, and honestly? That concerned the bandits. Didn’t the other adult Vault Hunters teach him anything? Stranger danger? Was that not still a thing? 

“Put. It. Back,” the leader said through clenched teeth as he watched Claptrap go back over to the ECHOplayer, putting the tape in and pressing play. “I’m serious! Stop! There isn’t a party!” 

“Like I said, I was told that there was one, soooooo......” Claptrap shrugged dramatically, using his hands to demonstrate the shrug. “Now we gotta do this or... y’know... there will be more tears.” 

The leader flinched at that word, knowing that it just meant the kid would start screeching again. Maybe they should just throw him to the Skags. Yeah, they’d lose profit, but this kid was... a fucking alien. It wasn’t natural how loud he was or could be. Hell, when they first brought him to their lair he would refuse to go up the stairs, saying they were created by the devil in order to torture the poor Claptrap’s who couldn’t use them. What the fuck did that even mean? They were just stairs, it wasn’t a big deal, especially since he had functioning legs. Eventually they had to drag him up. 

“Fi...fine. Just... keep quiet. I have to make a call.” The moment he turned his back and took out his ECHOdevice the funky music that Claptrap had picked had been turned up all the way. Great. This was going great. 

                                                             -----

Lilith was going through their next course of action with Brick in the map room, actually enjoying the peace since they knew that Claptrap was out there and would most likely be returning home soon. He was like a puppy, once he got too bored he would dig his way out of wherever he went and come back home as if nothing had happened. It was just a matter of time, or, hell, maybe the bandits would get so fed up with him they would just force him to leave. That’s certainly happened before, and it would happen again. When people see Claptrap and find out he’s also a Vault Hunter they underestimate him, thinking he was just some stupid kid who was in over his head, but once he got into the fighting mood he was a fighting machine. If he used his robot hacking gloves? The fight was over; he could take control of any robot he got his hands on, making them move like his puppet. Surprise, surprise the Vault Hunters had to tell him to focus and stop making the robots dance so they could get the fight over with. 

“Okay, so if we-” Lilith was cut off when a transmission was coming through on her ECHOdevice. “What’s up?” She said to the unknown transmitter. The moment she allowed the transmission go through she instantly regretted it. In the background she could hear Claptrap singing, encouraging the other bandits to join him dancing to the stupid music that was playing. 

“Okay, I’m willing to lower the ransom,” the bandit leaders voice came through, sounding almost defeated this time around. 

Lilith raised an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest. “How much?”

“A thousand dollars.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Five hundred dollars.” 

“No, no, no! You idiots!” Claptrap’s voice could be heard in the background again. ‘It’s one and two and twirl! Don’t you know anything?!” He groaned loudly, the sound of him smacking his own face in frustration, “are you trying to make cry again?! The dance is simple! Just... okay. Lets all take a deep breath... and.. sTOP ACTING LIKE IDIOTS! Todd! C’mon, man! You got this! I know you don’t have two left-goddamn-feet!” Something shattered to the floor. 

“Sounds like you have him under control,” Lilith finally said, about to hang up the transmission. 

“No, wait!” The leader said, making Lilith stop, “please just take him back. Come get him. For free.” 

“Free?”

“Free?!” Claptrap demanded, “am I worth nothing to you bastards?! I showed you the joys of dancing and life and this is what I get?!”

“Please hurry...” the leader said before ending the call. 

“I guess we’re getting Claptrap.” 

The bandit leader sent their coordinates on the map, surprisingly not too far away from where Sanctuary was located. Brick drove them to where they needed to go with Lilith in the passengers seat, her gun ready just in case anyone or anything tried jumping out to surprise them. Were they really ready to get Claptrap back? Especially since they could hear how riled up he was over the transmission. Oh boy, what a night this was going to be. 

Once they reached their destination the Vault Hunters looked at each other in surprise. All bandits that should’ve been inside the hut were all outside in the snow, looking scared, scarred for life, and overall exhausted. Claptrap wasn’t that much of a hassle, was he? 

Brick took out his gun before they got out of the vehicle. All the bandits just pointed inside the hut without saying anything. They were just ready to have peace and quiet away from him. 

They shrugged, going inside. The hut was a huge mess. No, that was an understatement. It looked like a tornado went through and crashed the place. Yeah, that was Claptrap’s doing. 

Claptrap was sitting on the kitchen counter, the music still playing as he was rocking side to side to the beat as he took a bite of his pizza. Extra cheese, extra sausage, and extra love just like he ordered, the bandits didn’t even care that the guy taking their order laughed at them for that last request. 

“You saved me!” Claptrap said happily, hopping off the counter, grabbing the extra large pizza box. “This party was a drag!” He walked up to the them, offering them a pizza by holding up the box to them. Brick took a slice but Lilith politely declined. “They didn’t know how to dance! Can you believe that?! Savages!”

Lilith cleared her throat, putting a hand on Claptrap’s back. “Lets go back home,” she said, guiding him out with Brick behind her to make sure there weren’t going to be any sneak attacks. 

As they were walking back to the vehicle, Claptrap turned around, walking backwards to look at the bandits. “Okay, so I think I was a great teacher today! So I’ll be back next week to see how the routine is doing!”

Lilith and Brick never heard bandits begging for someone to never, ever return. 

[bruciewayne]

fall from grace

percy jackson au, stevetony, getting together/ ill-advised one-night-stands, 3k

for ‘percy jackson au’ on @iron-man-bingo

--

Tony winces as the bunker explodes. Not all of it, just a section. Fury wasn’t going to be happy. All he hopes is that he doesn’t have to be on introductions. He likes Camp Half-Blood, okay, loves it, he used to be a year-rounder, now he’s just here when college is out, he’s been here longer than he hasn’t, and it’s fucking fantastic.

But he hates doing introductions. Or worse, finding. 

He’s not even particularly anti-social (when he’s not knee-deep in a project), there’s just something about brand-new demigods, having to explain everything over and over, that he hates. He’s not a person of great patience. Finding demigods is just a pain, especially if it’s one of the stronger ones, who aren’t even meant to exist in the first place, but when have the gods played by their own rules. Finding demigods means fighting monsters, it means weeks, months if they were one of the unlucky ones, in motels, following a trail of destruction to a volatile, hurting, kid.

Now, most would consider Tony to be fairly decent at finding (whenever he’s done introductions they’ve never really gone well, partly because Tony just attempted to make an interactive dictionary to get it over and done with, partly because the kid was a dick. From then on, he very, very rarely gets to do introductions, literally only if he’s the only experienced camper left.), but Tony just dislikes it. Greatly. He likes the chase, he likes solving problems and making things to solve the problems, the only thing he really has a problem with (because motels were like unhygienic sleepovers when with the right person and even the fighting gave him an adrenaline rush that usually could power him through a couple days in the bunker without any other sustenance) is dealing with the actual kid.

All the ones that he’d found were angry, and sad, and Tony never really knew how to deal with that - all he has to do is keep it civil and keep them calm until they reach Camp, but every damn time it was hard.

As he predicted (not literally) Fury storms into the bunker, fuming, mere minutes after the explosion.

“Everything’s controlled, it was meant to happen,” Tony says, the moment he enters.

“Stark.” It was the Tone. The very particular, very specific Tone to his voice that meant ‘you are going to be doing what I tell you with no complaints or I will put you on horse clean up for the rest of your years on this earth’. The Tone usually came with a demigod to go on a wild goose chase after.

“No, Nick, c’ mon,” Tony pleads. 

Fury doesn’t change his expression in the slightest, and Tony’s pleas are met with a stony silence and a couple sheets of paper are shoved in his singed arms. 

“0800, at the border, you’re going with Natasha,” he says, final, as he spins on his heel and leaves.

“Could just say 8 AM like a normal person,” Tony mutters under his breath. He gets a twig thrown at him.

Tony carries on grumbling as he sets about tidying the bunker as best he can while the smoke clears out. Whoever built this really wasn’t thinking with ventilation in mind. Ancient assholes.

Almost, as if someone’s listening to his thoughts (or maybe he’s just talking aloud again) lighting cracks outside. It’s the middle of July. And Thor (the kid, not the god), their resident lightning expert, is over at Camp Jupiter for the week. 

“Ancient assholes!” Tony yells.

This time, the lightning strikes directly on top of the bunker.

By the time he’s done, he’s almost missed dinner.

“Ah!” Clint says, when he sees him walk into the pavillion, “The prodigal son returns!”

“Fuck off, Arrow-Boy,” Tony grumbles, stuffing fries into his mouth. He’s way more hungry than he thought.

“Tin can,” Clint retorts, flicking a pizza crust at him. 

Tony pulls a face at him, grumpily.

“Don’t mind him,” Natasha says, materialising behind them, making Clint jump and spill his orangeade, “he’s cranky because we have to go find a demigod tomorrow.”

“I’m not cranky,” Tony says, just about resisting the temptation to cross his arms and scowl.

“Go take a nap, tin can,” Clint says, patting him on the shoulder.

After he finishes his dinner, he does just that, after, setting everything up for tomorrow - he stuffs a backpack (one that he made, the one that’s bigger than it looks) with everything he’ll need for a week and goes over the information - any satyrs who’ve tried looking for him failed and every time someone tries to bring him back he escapes and drops right off the grid.

One of the things that surprised him about this guy (they have a name, age range, known aliases, and a couple sketches) is that a wake of good follows him, not destruction, but insurmountable, impossible, miracle good. Although, there is a tiny trail of anticapitalism following him as well. A series of alarmingly good thefts that followed him across the country alongside great donations and a sudden dip in youth homelessness and a surge of college graduates from the working class over the year.

So. 

Good. Too good. Good enough to drop of Interpol radar and on to theirs. (There’s an arrangement. Tony doesn’t want to know.)

If he doesn’t get him, then he gets passed over to the Romans, if they don’t then the Norse lot have a shot, then it gets handed over to the East, and after all of them, finally, the big lads will step in. 

They’ve only ever gone up to the chain to the Norse (all incredibly strange, but then again, his father is a god, so, strange flew out the window on his fifth birthday, upon the realisation that Elon Musk is his half-brother - about a week after he went to Camp). Who decided the chain, Tony doesn’t know, but it is what it is. Meaning they get all the grunt work. He doesn’t mind it much because it results in the people up top thinking that they’re hot shit. (When they bother to take a look down, of course).

All Tony knows, looking at the information sheet and his ‘greatest hits’, is that this guy, Steven G. Rogers, is going to be an interesting person. Demigod. Robin Hood. Whatever.

-

The sketches never told Tony how hot the guy is. And he’s hot. Like, 10/10 would let him leave him on read, hot. He has this whole ‘vigilante/guy on the run’ look going on, slightly too-long hair that’s somehow the perfect length and a beard. Which is just unfair, because he’s about the same age as Tony, and Tony can’t grow anything properly - he attempted, one time, and all he got was people telling him that he has chocolate milk on his top lip. 

The age thing threw Tony for a loop, because there’s this guy, college age, still not at Camp, who’s made Forbes 400 his personal hit list, and succeeded, alongside with what he does with the money and with how long he’s managed to evade them, there’s something, okay, many things, that, for the first time, make Tony feel out of his depth.

But he’s always up for a challenge.

And by gods, has it been challenging. They’re about a week into this, they’ve followed him all across New York (he seems reluctant to leave) and they’ve only seen him once, in a back alley with some masked guy. Tony checked up later and that masked guy was one of theirs, Murdock, son of Nemesis. He refused to tell them anything about the guy, aside from ‘Leave him alone’.

Right now, they’re in a motel in Brooklyn, talking with Fury.

“Stark, Romanoff, get him,” is all he says, breaking the mist. Helpful. Although, Tony should know by now that a ‘Hey, this guy is like, stupid good, and even Murdock told us to leave him alone’ never worked. He’s starting to miss his smoke-filled bunker. Knowing his luck, and Clint’s dickheadedness, he’s blocked what ventilation there is in the bunker and shut the door.

Tony turns to Natasha to ask her to give him the remote - he’s bored, and Robin Hood’s nowhere to be seen, and it’s late, maybe there’s a good movie on - but he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Room service.”

They’re on their feet in an instant, Tony’s slipped his gauntlet on (something a part of a bigger project - the reason there was a small incident in his bunker) and Natasha’s holding her knife, ready to strike, in front of Tony.

“I don’t remember ordering anything,” Natasha calls deliberately loud, eyes trained on the door. 

“What about a demigod” 

The guy says ‘demigod’ like it’s an insult, in a sneer, almost mocking them.

He could have the guy they want, demand ransom for him, maybe, or lead them to him. 

Tony taps an ‘O’ in Morse code, and Natasha nods her agreement, never looking away from the door. She goes over, feet light and opens the door an inch, knife first, before swinging it fully open to reveal Steven G. Rogers.

“You’ll need something stronger,” he says, nodding to the knife, “and take longer next time, maybe the Romans’ll get me.” He leans casually against the doorjamb, and Tony’s gay enough to admit that even that action is hot. So is that little teasing smile.

He is not falling for some vigilante guy he doesn’t even know the middle name of. He’s merely appreciating his assets. His very, very attractive assets.

“You need to come back to--” Natasha starts, ignoring the jibe about her knife, yes it’s small, but it’s poisoned with eitr (they had a bet with Quill’s crew, one of the Norse, Gamora bet her knife and lost it to Nat), which will easily put a human, and a demigod to death.

“Camp Half-Blood,” Rogers says, tiredly. So he knows that he’s a demigod and that Camp Half-Blood exists, he’s definitely heard this before and he’s turning out to be even more interesting, so Tony jumps in.

“Good deduction, Rogers, now come to Camp.”

He fakes thinking for a minute, and then decides, “Nah,” and before Natasha or Tony can protest he adds something more, “I’m tired and bored of your lot chasing me, both of us have better things to do. You stop going after me. Understood.” He draws himself up to his full height and drops the smile, towering over them.

Neither of them are scared, they’re both small, and they’ve been trained to use that to their advantage, and they’ve been training at Camp since before most kids would be in the first grade, Tony’s been told that overconfidence is his ‘fatal flaw’ (amongst other things), but it’s two against one, and that one has none of the training, nor teamwork that they have. He has strength, he very, very clearly has strength, but other than that, he’s a blank canvas.

“You’re coming with us,” Natasha says, faux gently, they’ve dealt with people like this before. Angry, ‘the world has wronged me’ types, who put up a fight. Tony glad he remembered to take the tranqs this time. 

“Oh, for fucks’ sake,” Rogers groans, “no means no, asshole.”

“Can’t take no for an answer,” Natasha says, shifting her stance into the offensive.

Rogers has the audacity to roll his eyes, “Then learn basic consent.”

He makes the mistake of turning around - put your back to Nat when you’re not on the same side, be prepared for something become incredibly friendly with your lats and your trapezius (Tony speaks from experience).

She jumps up onto his back, ready to knock him out with the flat of the blade - Tony’s seen this a million times before, so he prepared himself for an unconscious demigod, but it goes in vain.

Before he knows what’s going on Natasha’s lying flat on her back with Rogers’ foot on her stomach, the knife is in Rogers’ hand, pointed at him. He raises the gauntlet on instinct.

“Go home, tell him I got away,” he speaks with an entirely authoritative voice that definitely does not go straight to Tony’s dick. He’s willing to bet that Rogers is a child of Aphrodite.

He tosses the knife on one of the beds and walks out.

Tony chases him out, instinctively, and almost crashes into him outside. Rogers gives him a look and before he knows it, he’s kissing him in a wild clash of lips and tongues. He’s shoved against the wall as Rogers noses down his neck.

“Rogers,” Tony breaths tilting his head back.

“We’re gettin’ friendly. Steve’ll do.”

“Steve, Steve--”

“You want me to stop?” Rogers-- Steve asks, with a teasing roll of his hips against Tony’s hardening cock.

“Fuck no,” Tony groans, “but I gotta know, why?” He’d like to state, for the record, that he is never this easy; usually, it takes much more than a rough kiss and manhandling to get him like this, but Steve knows what he’s doing.

“Why?” Steve murmurs against his neck, “You’re hot, and you’ve been eye-fucking me the moment I walked in.” He pulls away suddenly, “You’ve done this before, right?”

Tony grins, lewd, “Sure, I’d prove it, but on top of everything, I don’t want a public indecency charge as well.”

Steve’s eyes darken and he drags them into his room - the one next to Natasha and Tony’s. 

Tony proves just how non-virginal he is and Steve returns the favour, and Tony really, really wasn’t wrong in his first assessment of ‘knows what he’s doing’.

“That might have been,” Tony pants, trying to catch his breath, “the best orgasm of my life.”

Steve laughs and presses an absent-minded kiss to his shoulder, then trails his lips up to tease at the hickey he left earlier. “I get that a lot,” he murmurs, grinning up at Tony.

“From everyone, or am I just special?”

Steve seems to realise what he’s really asking, because he chuckles again, “You’re the only one of Fury’s minions I’ve slept with.”

Tony grins. He’s never had this much fun, outside of the sex, with a hookup before. “Well, you’re the only demigod I’ve fucked, period.” Even though godly relations counted for jackshit, he’s never slept with anyone at Camp. He’s not even sure if you’re allowed to have sex there.

“I don’t recall you doing much fucking,” Steve says, smirking.

Tony, ever the pinnacle of maturity, just mimics him, far too tired to think of something clever. He lets his eyes fall shut, comfortable in Steve’s arms.

When he wakes up, he’s alone, with a note and a flip phone left on the pillow where Steve was.

The phone’s demigod-proofed, call, text, if you ever want a real fuck - SR

-

“We lost him, got away right under our noses, but we do have a way to contact him,” Tony says to Fury when they get back. He knows that he should hand over the phone, but that feels like he’s breaking Steve’s trust.

“The phone, Stark.”

“Through me, you talk to him through me,” Tony insists. Steve’s not coming to Camp for a reason, and he trusts him not to drag him back, so Tony feels an urge to protect him, even though he’s proven more than competent at that.

Fury knows what battles to pick, so leaves him, with a reminder to get some rest.

Maybe he doesn’t hate finding that much.

-

They don’t try to chase him after that, but Tony still meets up with him, sometimes it takes him a week to respond, sometimes he’s out of the country, but he always replies. They don’t even have sex immediately the first time Tony texts him, they just hang out in a diner in Queen. Then they fuck for real, on some billionaire’s bed, because Steve’s just like that and it tops last time.

It takes Tony repeating a constant mantra of ‘he’s a thief and fairly shifty and what they have is strictly friends-with-benefits’ to slow down falling in love with him, but it seems sort of inevitable in the end. He’s entirely in love with the way he smiles and laughs and fucks and every single part of him, Tony’s so damn, overwhelmingly in love, he knows that he’s going to tell him, today, about a year into what they have. It’s not unrequited, if the looks Steve gives him is anything to go by. 

They’re sitting in a bandstand in a park near Camp, the closest Steve’ll get to it. He’s still the same, he’s still one bad fashion choice from ‘cryptid’, still Robin-Hoods-ing in his free time, but he’s shaved off the beard - the very first time, he’d tentatively asked Tony to do it. 

Tony’s learnt that he’s also an artist, that he used to be in the army, that he has a weird and shitty relationship with his parents, and even though there’s still a lot that he doesn’t know about him, all that changes a view on someone.

They’ve both long accepted that what they have can barely be classed as ‘friends-with-benefits’ now, in some unspoken agreement one early morning, this time in Steve’s apartment when they were lying in bed, half-awake together.

Tony leans in to kiss Steve, ready to tell him, so damn ready that it feels like it’s going to burst out of his mouth all by itself when a thunderstorm starts.

Steve groans and drops his head on to Tony’s shoulder. It’s adorable, seeing this six-foot man try make himself small enough to fit in Tony. They make it work. 

Steve stretches out an arm and flips off the sky. The sky sends a truly unnatural amount of lighting into the tree next to them.

This time, he yells a ‘fuck you’, loud and clear, before kissing Tony, deeply, swallowing his giggles.

When they pull away, Steve’s grinning, bright and wonderful. He opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted by a well-dressed businessman in a flash of lightning. 

Now, Tony’s only ever met his dad, Hephestus, and Apollo, and they were nowhere near this dramatic. Or well dressed. Or this important.

Steve just rolls his eyes at their untimely interruption, but there’s something under the annoyance, something akin to fear that puts Tony on edge. “Fuck off.”

“Now,” Zeus says, “is that any way to greet your father, Heracles?”

-

iron man bingo masterpost

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#5yrsago Podcast: Internet service providers charging for premium access hold us all to ransom

Here's a reading (MP3) of a my latest Guardian column, Internet service providers charging for premium access hold us all to ransom, which tries to make sense of the disastrous news that the Federal Communications Commission is contemplating rules to allow ISPs to demand bribes from publishers in exchange for letting you see the webpages you ask for.

There's a useful analogy to the phone company that I've written about here before: you pay for your phone service every month. The pizza place on the corner also pays for its phone service every month. When you want to order a pizza from Joe's Corner Pizzeria, you call their number. If their phone isn't engaged, it rings and you get to place your order. If they get more orders than they can handle on one line, they buy a second line, a third, even 10 lines to take their orders. Provided one of those lines is free, your call goes through to someone when you ring.

But what if your phone company decided that the way to bring in higher profits was to go around to all the pizza places and shake them down for "premium" access to "their" customers? If Joe's Corner Pizzeria turned them down, your call to Joe's might get a busy signal, even if there were plenty of free lines at Joe's place. Meanwhile, an order to the monied, tasteless sultan of global cardboard pizza-ite, that is, the company who has plenty of money for "premium" access – is easy to reach, because your phone company has promised them that every call will be put through.

The thing is, Joe's is paying for its lines. You're paying for your line. The phone company exists solely to connect people to the numbers they dial. But because there are "natural monopolies" in phone service (because there are only so many mobile frequencies and underground cable space), they can abuse their position to extort additional payments from the services you want to talk to. And the more popular a service is, the better it is, the more the ISP stands to profit from this racket.

https://boingboing.net/2014/04/28/podcast-internet-service-prov.html