#but it's never going to not be weird hearing my accent on tv

[ramonaflow]

Hullraisers

[tange-my-rine]

borrow some sugar || Tangerine × gn!reader

Summary: You were living in the city, on your own. It was your dream though, you'd known it was far from home but you needed the space. Well, wanted the space. Didn't mean it wasn't lonely. The one time you actually met your neighbor, of course, you put your literal whole life in danger.

TW: blood, guns, murder, threats, cursing (it's Tangerine), protective!Tangerine (eventually), kidnapping, threats, and all things bullet train.

[[A/N: love a good normal person × Tangerine, and this is the epitome of that. Except you get way too wrapped up in it.]]

"Yeah, I know," you echoed out, fetching your keys out of your pocket -mindlessly walking through the hallway, "-I'm always safe, you know that."

Pressing your phone onto your shoulder, you heard a sort of bang -a heavy thud really, on the wall.

You furrowed your brows, the neighbor on that side was usually quiet. Like unusually quiet. You'd seen him, maybe once or twice in the hallway -he'd never said a word to you. Always wearing a suit and a super serious face, you'd assumed he was some sort of corporate worker with insane hours.

"Look," you spoke, unlocking your handle, "-I have to go, but I'll call you back tomorrow. I'm home already."

Slipping into your apartment, you sighed, pushing your phone into your pocket, dropping your keys, and taking off your shoes by the door. With the familiar thrum of your fridge, you mindlessly wander up to your couch and drop your bag.

It had been a terrible day at work, your boss was... well, your boss. And your work was exhausting, your feet hurt and your brain was working on the migraine of the century-

You just wanted to eat and watch your comfort TV show and turn your brain off -for an hour, at least. If not for the last few hours before you went to sleep, that was dream case scenario. Finally, when your brain was succumbing to the buzz of the voices, your eyes drifting shut, and the couch seemed so fluffy, there was a noise.

At first, you ignored it -figured it was your brain or something out in the hallway.

But then, it came back -a clear, harsh knock.

'2:30 am,' flashed across your screen as you looked at it, and then again, seriously, you thought you imagined it. Because who would that be?

You were fully awake now, leaning up on your couch, staring at your door -waiting, testing if it was real.

Knock.

Huh, you stood up -wiping at your eyes, and slowly slinking to the door.

"Hello?"

You don't know what you expected, but it certainly wasn't what you saw.

It was your neighbor, sweaty with ripped clothes (a suit, you think) -was he ever in anything else? His eyes were lidded, nose bleeding, it stained his mustache, and you were pretty sure there was a knife in his shoulder-

"You 'ave any first aid?" He had an accent, a crazy accent that somehow suited him but you didn't expect at all.

"Are you-" you were in disbelief, "-Are you okay?"

He paused, before retorting -frankly, "Did you hear a fuckin' word I said, love?"

"Sorry, sorry," you swallowed, beckoning him inside, "-I think I have one in my bathroom. Just- Just sit at the counter."

"Right, thanks."

You weren't even sure your feet were touching the ground at this point, but still, you were quick -sifting through your cabinets.

A man is bleeding out in my kitchen, your brain panged, -a man is bleeding out in my kitchen.

Blinking, you mindlessly -in an entirely different way now- but directly made your way to the kitchen. A kit in your hand, you pinched yourself for a moment -this would be one weird fucking dream.

As you said, the man sat on a stool -blood dripping down onto your tile. You briskly wondered how to get that out, before sliding all the supplies across the countertop -the clatter filling the quiet air.

Pulling yourself onto the stool opposite him, you licked across your lips -fidgeting with some packaging.

"You couldn't just borrow some sugar?" you mumbled, taking out an alcohol wipe.

"What?" He furrowed his eyebrows, frown still present on his lips -it seemed like it stayed there.

"This-" you motioned to him, "-is the first time we've met. You couldn't do a normal neighbor thing? Like borrow sugar-"

"Sorry, love," he rolled his eyes, "-I'll think of it fuckin' next time, yeah?"

"You should," you scoffed, "-I don't think every neighbor would appreciate bloodstains."

"And you do?"

"No," you stressed out, dabbing at a cut along his cheek -not the worst one but the first one you could handle right now, "-I am barely awake right now, and I'm half convinced you aren't even real-"

"Very real," he tsked, less biting this time.

You digested that information, swallowing dryly. A man, in some business, was on your stool, bleeding.

"Honest question," You pursed your lips, before focusing on another cut above his eyebrow. You were blatantly ignoring the knife, you literally had no idea-

"Go ahead," he huffed out, breaths puffing out of his chest.

"How the hell did you get stabbed?"

The man paused, thinking over his answer (why did he have to think?), "Break-in?"

You raised an eyebrow, tossing out the wipe, "You sure about that answer?"

"Better if ya didn't know, love," he mended -blue eyes slinking over your kitchen.

You hummed, picking through the material -thank god you took that sewing class, "Kind of expected that, mysterious suited neighbor."

"Tangerine."

You flicked up your eyes, confused, "Is that... Is that your safeword, or...?"

"Fuckin' hell," he sighed, using a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, "-'s my name."

"Your name?" you questioned, tone raising.

"My brother-" he began before shaking his head -solidly, "-Doesn't fuckin matter, are ya gonna get to the knife wound or?"

"Listen," you spoke -a little pressed, "-I'm not one to stitch up wounds, Tangerine. I have to remember my sewing class-"

"You gonna stitch up my fuckin' shirt then, love?"

"Oh my god," you exhaled through your nose, "-no wonder you had to come to a stranger."

He opened his mouth -eager to bite back, but you promptly interrupted him.

"I have no experience," you said, taking the knife handle into your hand, "-but I'm pretty sure this is going to hurt like hell."

"Lucky for you, love," he spoke through labored breaths -wrapping his fingers around yours, "-I'm very fuckin' experienced."

And then without hesitation, he tugged it out.

The next few moments were bloody and unreal to you -your hands working quickly but your brain significantly falling behind. You could cross 'stitching up a wound on a handsome man' off your bucket list if it was ever even on there.

Now, you sat on the stool -hands sticky red, and your shirt (one of your better pjs, sadly) stained just the same. With a roll of bandages, you wrapped his shoulder with tedious little movements -eyes focused only on the skin. Only looking up when you'd tied it off, mind finally settling.

"Is that everything?" You asked, careful to not put your hands anywhere except your shirt.

"Yeah," he spoke, softer, "-just some bruisin', I think."

"Let me get you some peas," you echoed, sliding down from your stool -steps slow, you were just tired.

He didn't speak a word, as you dug through your freezer -finding one at the very bottom, of course.

You extended your hand, the cold sensation keeping you up -aware. Right now, your brain was in overdrive, probably ever since he'd shown up at your door, and your body merely just followed behind.

He shifted, grabbing it from you -you saw a kiss of a tattoo that you were curious about but not enough to ask. Your eyes sunk along his shirt, which was not a shirt anymore, all bloodstained and ripped up.

Before you could stop it, you were asking, "Do you need new clothes?"

Tangerine paused, looking at you like you grew a third head. You were past that point, you had his literal blood on your hands -there was no need to be shy now.

"'Had a boyfriend about your build," you clarified, "-I never gave him back like 10 shirts, so-"

"10?" He interrupted and you thought you might've seen a smile quirk onto his lips.

"He smelled good," you offered, before spinning to the kitchen and proceeding to scrub your hands with no hesitation, "-You want one or not?"

"Yeah," he sighed out, a little awkwardly, "-Yeah, thanks."

"While I'm at it," you spoke over your shoulder, "-do you need a place to stay?"

He pursed his lips, hand pushed into the peas against his ribs -you imagined it would be a big bruise in the morning.

"I'm pretty sure whatever happened," you emphasized, "-left a mess. I have a couch if you need it."

"Bein' awfully fuckin' nice to a stranger," he hummed, eyes tired.

"I figured you would've killed me way earlier," you remarked, finally drying them on a nearby towel, "'Had some good opportunities."

He smiled then, you actually saw it with your own two eyes -you almost thought you were hallucinating. His head tilting back, as his shoulder pressed against your counter -he looked kind of like a painting, all twisted angles and sharp jaw.

"What's yours?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, "My what?"

"Your name, love," he answered, soft and attentive -much different than before (you kind of thought he might've lost too much blood).

"You wanna know that now?" You laughed, but even still you told him -there was something about him that made you feel at ease. He really shouldn't have.

He stayed that night, cozied up in your ex-boyfriend's shirt (which he looked surprisingly good in) and freshly showered. You didn't see him when you woke up that morning, and you didn't know why you had expected it.

A few weeks go by, and you were pretty sure that he moved out. Which, in retrospect, made sense, even still something in you felt kinda disappointed. He was the first person you'd actually talked to in months.

Coworkers didn't count.

You shook your head, he was literally covered in blood. In a business he couldn't talk about, and you missed him? You were officially losing your mind.

"Stupid," you muttered, eyes dipping across the TV -some sort of cheesy romcom that you'd never seen before in your life but still felt nostalgic to watch. It wasn't the worst thing you'd ever seen.

Good enough to sit and eat your favorite meal to, it was interesting enough to keep you awake.

When you finally slinked off to bed, and tossed into your fluffy comforter and soft pillows, you were exhausted. Far too exhausted to stay awake any longer. So, you didn't.

The sun was creeping through your window when you woke up, but not a morning sun -a too early sun. You groaned, looking to your phone and seeing without a doubt, it was 4:15 am. At first, you didn't know why you'd woken up so early but then you heard it.

A knock.

Initially, you were not going to move because it was warm here and you were tired.

But then you thought about if it was him, and if in the morning you'd see him dead on your doorstep. That would be suspicious, and you'd probably end up in jail-

You sighed, pulling yourself out of the bed and pattering to the door. And when you swung it open, you were met with familiar blue eyes.

Before you could stop it, you asked, "Don't you have any friends?"

He barked out a laugh -chuckle really, but something in him seemed nervous (like he wasn't sure if he should have come), "Lovely to see you too, love."

"Right," you agreed, before shuffling to the side and letting him in. He relaxed ever-so-slightly.

The first thing you noticed was a split on his forehead, just a cut -it wouldn't need any stitches (thank god, these pajamas were your favorite), and then you dipped to his clothes which were actually in tack. It was a blue suit, really complimented his eyes, and you wondered distantly if he did that on purpose. He seemed the type.

His pants though were dirty, and you could see him limping -only slightly. He was definitely not in as bad as shape as before though; you really wondered why he was here.

"Sit," you motioned to the stool and disappeared into your bathroom.

You got much of the same things and climbed onto the stool beside him, eyes sweeping across his face. Now that you were closer, you could see little cuts along his skin -teeny tiny.

"Glass bottle," he offered before you could say anything.

You hummed, nonchalantly, "Coulda guessed."

Your brain was numb at the moment, still sleepy and you once again thought this might've been a hallucination. He was handsome after all, and you did daydream about handsome men so it definitely could be. And you guessed you could have a saviour thing-

You stopped your train of thought, interrupting the silence as you dabbed at his forehead, "You know I'm not a doctor, right?"

He spoke, frankly, "You talked about a sewing class when you needed to stitch up my bloody fuckin' knife wound, love."

You nodded, fair point, before continuing, "Then why are you here?"

Tangerine paused, and you thought distantly he didn't have an answer, until he answered, "'Hard to do myself."

You thought for a moment, before replying, "What about your brother?"

"Not in the fuckin' country," he answered simply -something frustrated in his tone. But then again, when wasn't there?

"Hmm," you hummed, before rubbing the rest of the tiny cuts -he hissed slightly, "-different job?"

"No," he exhaled, "-just a different... mission."

"'Make it sound like you're a super spy," you laughed, "-but Tangerine isn't a very cool codename."

"Fuck you."

"You are such a joy," you remarked, debating bandaging the top cut, "-Are bandaids too baby for you?"

"Plasters?" He asked.

British, right, you nodded -waving one in your fingers, "Yeah, I think it's all I've got for your wounds. Well, unless you want it wrapped around your head-"

"'s fine," he muttered -low but you still caught it.

"Good," you assured, sticking one to his skin -fingers fluttering along his skin (when was the last time you touched someone?).

"Alright," you leaned back, gathering up your supplies -promptly ignoring the thought, "-all done here. Your leg-"

"Bruised ankle," he clarified -explaining the limp.

"Oh," you spoke, "-I'll get the peas again."

Your eyes dipped to his pants, covered in... something (maybe a mix of blood and dirt?), "And a pair of pants."

He didn't say a word, merely staying seated, as you grabbed the peas -sliding them across your counter. Before stalling slightly, asking-

"Do you even still live here?"

He pressed his lips together, apparently debating telling you -which you were slightly offended by, "No."

"So you're staying?" You asked, neutrally.

"Don't 'ave to," he spoke -not combative, and you really thought you were hallucinating then.

You tilted your head, confused, "You can stay, didn't I say that before?"

He nodded, still so wordless, and you were honestly the most confused you ever could be. Tangerine was quieter, softer, and it was nothing like the time before; he even seemed grateful.

"Honest question," you started.

"Yeah, love?"

"Are you okay?" You decided, careful wording with eye contact strong. You two were kind of close, he left his life in your hands -it was strangely intimate. Your relationship was very confusing, but it felt right to ask.

"Yeah," he answered -furrowing his brows, "-these wounds are fuckin' nothing, love. I have been far, far closer to death."

"No, I mean-" you clarified, "-like mentally. You're being too nice."

He raised his eyebrows, "Too nice?"

"Yeah," you stressed like it was obvious, "-you are like grateful and shit. You've barely cussed at me."

"You saved my fuckin' life, love," he questioned, "-shouldn't I be kind for 'at?"

"You should," you agreed, before contradicting, "-but you don't."

He was quiet then, eyes not meeting yours as his fingers tapped against your counter -seemingly running things over in his mind. It was awhile that he was doing that, but you patiently waited. You suspected opening up at all wasn't his forte.

Finally, still looking around your living room, he mumbled, "'Needed to see someone."

You took him at his word -not dwelling because it really felt like he didn't want to, and the rest of the night was the same. He took the pants, slept on the couch, and was gone in the morning -even though he couldn't have slept more than a few hours.

It started happening pretty regularly after that. You'd fix him up, he'd talk, you'd talk, he'd stay over. You started loosening up, talking about your job, and your life -nothing super specific. He stayed clammed up about his job, but his personal life he did talk about -there wasn't much, but he did talk about his brother.

You felt like that was a big thing.

And then, after quite a few months between visits, you heard a knock at your door. Super late as always, you made your way to it -expectant and in routine. This time though, there were two of them: a familiar Tangerine, and a man with bleached tips and a surprisingly big smile.

"Hello," he smiled and it was very odd -Tangerine hardly smiled, "-lovely to meet ya, I'm Lemon."

You could assume from the name, even still, you felt a little out of place, "Nice to meet you."

"Brother," Tangerine motioned to him -frustration nearly radiating off of him, as he made his way inside.

"Rude," Lemon spoke, "-can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course," you exhaled, letting him in.

Tangerine was relatively well -bruised knuckles, a busted lip, and a mild slice on his collarbone. Lemon was even better with just a black eye, atleast on the surface.

Instead of on the stool, Tangerine beelined straight to the bathroom -slamming the door.

You pursed your lips, turning to Lemon for answers, "What the hell is wrong with him?"

"Annoyed 'im into takin' me 'ere," he answered simply, "-'Wanted to meet who my brother was talkin' about."

He talks about me, you thought for a moment -you fully believed that you were a little miniature part of his life, not something he'd talk about. Especially to his brother.

He must've seen your confusion, because he continued.

"Oh, he never shuts up, love," he laughed, "-'Feel like I already fuckin' know ya."

"Huh," you responded, puzzled.

You thought about it for a second, running over the idea in your mind. What did he have to talk about? Your life? Your boring job, your lack of love life, your favorite cheesy movies? He told that to his brother? His brother with the same unbelievable life?

Why the hell would he do that?

"Please, sit on my couch," you finally spoke, wandering towards the kitchen with intent, "-I'll get you something cold for your eye. And then, I'll deal with the tantrum."

"Thanks," Lemon smiled, tottering off to your TV and without hesitation, popping it on.

He really was very comfortable for not knowing you. How much had Tangerine said?

You stepped into the living room, offering the same peas to Lemon (did you even like peas?) that you often gave Tangerine. He smiled gratefully.

"Do you need any like Tylenol?" You asked, further -eyes swiftly drifting over his eye, it was a nasty sort of yellow, "-that one is a shiner."

"So nice," Lemon hummed, "-no wonder my brother was hoggin' ya. But, I'll be alright, 'ave had worse."

You nodded, before slowly making your way toward the bathroom. Raising your hand, you gently knocked -nothing compared to his on your door in ungodly hours of the morning.

"Tangerine?" You offered.

The door slid open, and your eyes swam over him -taking in his wounds that you had before like in confirmation. He really wasn't hurt bad, not like other times.

Turns out, you didn't care and still wanted to help.

He was leaning against the counter fidgeting with his hands -you think there was blood on his rings. You spoke before you could think about it.

"You want me to wash those?"

He quirked an eyebrow, "What?"

“Your rings,” you clarified, mentally cursing yourself, “-or… do you need help with your wounds?”

He seems to think about it for a moment, eyes dashing across his knuckles -his rings, really. You only watched him for a few moments, half convinced you had dreamt this all up, that maybe he didn’t even exist. Maybe he was a figment of your imagination, he was certainly handsome enough. And his name was Tangerine. This could definitely all be a dream.

“Think I can do the rings myself, love,” he laughed a little -you still weren’t used to that sound, “-and the wounds aren’t ‘at bad.”

You looked at him for a moment, peering along the busted lip and the slice on his collarbone, “You sure? It’s kind of all I do, is it not?”

He smiled, mustache quirking up, “If it makes you feel better, you can clean the cut. But really, love, I’m fine.”

You pursed your lips, taking in his breaths that swirled with yours -the bathroom was small, “I’ll just get you some ice for your knuckles. But if you die from infection, it’s not on me.”

He really laughed at the one, as you spun on your feet back to the kitchen -digging out some other frozen food you hadn’t gotten around to eating yet. With a solid motion, you extended it forward (it was maybe tater tots?), offering it to Tangerine.

“Sorry it’s not the peas,” you spoke, pointing to Lemon -who at the time seemed to be half asleep on the couch, “-your brother stole those.”

“The fuckin’ twat,” he hissed out, a little too personally -you thought it was probably about something far bigger than your frozen peas. He could definitely be that petty though. So, it was possible.

"Woah, somebody's pissy today. Bad day?"

Tangerine seemed to pause, eyes swimming over you -like he was committing you to memory, you briefly wondered why.

"Yeah," he said, solidly -not elaborating. You knew better than to expect him to.

"Well," you spoke, a little awkwardly -not sure where to go, "-I've got... icecream?"

He looked at you like you were insane, but then again, when wasn't he? You said a lot of things without a filter in front of him. Handsome men, what could you say?

"Like..." you clarified, clearing your throat, "-to eat."

"Yeah, love, I fuckin' got 'at part. Why the hell would I want icecream?"

There it was. Tangerine in his true form.

You opened your mouth to respond, but someone else cut you to the chase.

"Sorry," Lemon perked up, "-did you say icecream? Because 'at would be really lovely with this movie, a great pair-"

"Yeah," you turned to him -his presence was a lot warmer (why was his name Lemon?), "-I've only got one flavor, but..."

"Fine with me," Lemon responded, with a big smile, "-brother, are you gettin' any?"

Tangerine huffed out of his nose, genuinely frustrated apparently -much different than a moment ago. What was he even angry about? There was nothing-

"No," he spoke through a snarl.

"Ouch," Lemon put his hands on his heart, replying flatly, "-really hurts, mate. Not used to your shitty behavior at all."

You decidedly left the room (not really it was all open concept), waltzing toward your kitchen with a focus in mind. As you were digging around, trying to find the pint you'd hidden from yourself, you were interrupted.

"Do you..." you turned at his voice, Tangerine, he didn't look very certain of his words, "-Do you need any help, love?"

"Help?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow, "-With icecream?"

"Well," he was suddenly very grumpy -probably embarrassed, "-you help me all the fuckin' time, so I just thought- Excuse me for fuckin' offering."

"You..." you started, standing and now facing him, "-You were going to repay me for saving your life, by helping me with icecream?"

"'S hardly saving my life," he grumbled, under his breath -you still heard it.

"You had a knife-" you motioned harshly to stress the word, "-in your shoulder the first time we met."

"Not deadly," he retorted, a bit pompous.

You rolled your eyes, "Look, give me the benefit of the doubt-"

Tangerine quickly said -almost on instinct, "I certainly will fuckin' not."

"-let's call it even," you continued, ignoring his remark, "-I save your life, you save mine."

"That's..." he started, "-That's makin' it even?"

"Well, yeah," you tilted your head, "-a life for a life."

He furrowed his eyebrows, you took it as him not understanding.

"Let's say that I'm getting chased down an alley," you clarified, before interjecting, "-Ooh wait, or maybe I'm getting robbed-"

"Are you fuckin' excited at the idea of gettin' robbed, love?"

"No," you quickly mended, "-it's just a better story. Plus, that's not relevant-"

His lips quirked up into a little smile.

"-What I'm saying is," you started, "-If I'm in trouble, you have to save me. To make it even."

"And how am I supposed to know when you're in trouble, then?"

You paused, pursing your lips -good point, "Uh, I don't know. Do you guys have like a bat signal? Like I hold up a fruit stand sign to the light-"

"Very funny," Tangerine interrupted -flatly, "-Look, just take my phone number, yeah? If you're ever in trouble, you can ring me like a fuckin' normal person."

"You're one to talk," you responded, before furrowing your eyebrows, "-Wait, you guys have phones?"

"Yeah," Tangerine stressed, "-who do you think we are?"

"Well, I don't know," you explained, "-don't phones have trackers? Won't that out you guys? When you're on... jobs?"

"Burners," Lemon quickly clarified, "-well, kind of. 'S on a secret network, basically."

"So," you started, processing, "-you want to give me your secret phone number?"

Tangerine hummed, realizing but seeming to settle, "Well, it's not like you've given me a reason to not trust you, love. Should I not?"

"True," you responded, "-I have not snitched on you. Even with... all the blood, and the knife, and the job you won't talk about-"

"We get it, love," he groaned out, "-just give me your fuckin' phone, yeah?"

You without hesitation gave it to him, he seemed to quickly put your phone number in his, and then his in yours -handing it back to you open on the contact. With a smile, you made his name the tangerine emoji.

"You put me as the damn emoji, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah," you laughed out, pocketing your phone in one fellow swoop.

You ended up seeing them both a few more times after that with varying injuries. (Once Lemon had a broken nose, and Tangerine had a broken finger. No more knives, thankfully.)

They were starting to be familiar to you -friends even. Despite not telling you about their job, you had gotten to know them well; you hate to brag but you were pretty good at settling their arguments. It made you integral to their dynamic.

You probably should've known one day you helping them stay alive would come back and bite you in the ass.

See, if you were asked, you'd probably assume they had many enemies. They were, at least, fighting people on a daily basis -you don't do that if your job is a positive one. And fighting people, almost regularly, is a surefire way of saying 'somebody hates me'. They probably had an enemy in every other city, if you were realistic.

You don't know why you hadn't thought of that.

That day, it was just a normal one. You worked until the sun went down, and then went home. Or you were supposed to.

Your shift at work was long and exhausting and you kind of wished your bed was right in front of you -so, to be honest, you weren't in your most aware state. It was always dangerous walking the streets tired, you knew this, so you usually had someone walk home with you. This night, in particular, was a lone shift (hell on earth) with a manager you didn't like, so you didn't ask.

And maybe that was stupid of you, but you doubted they would say yes.

Your feet pattered along the sidewalk, street lamps fading in and out of your view. Every few steps it'd get dark and then light again; to be honest, you were too tired to feel scared when it was dark.

And then, right as you stepped into the light, you heard the screech of car breaks (which you were kind of used to) and then suddenly there were hands all over you. Gloved hands, black-gloved hands.

Before you could say a word, you were thrown into the back of a van -no seats by the way, and enveloped in darkness.

It took you a minute to adjust, head spinning and hands shaking against the cold metal underneath you. It kind of felt like when you met Tangerine for the first time, like you weren't really there. Like you were experiencing something so bizarre, it couldn't be real-

Shit, you thought to yourself, Tangerine.

You patted yourself, ruffling over your pockets -trying to find your phone. It was dark and you couldn't even see. You guessed that was why, your phone went clattering onto the metal, away from your hand -loud.

There was something in you that hoped that these guys were stupid. That they'd look over the noise and ignore you until they took you wherever the hell they were taking you.

You weren't that lucky.

The van was distinctly pulled over, tires even scraping along the bumpy texture. And within minutes, the door to the van was flung open.

They were just a shadowy figure, light framing them so you couldn't see any of his features at all. He was just a shadow. You didn't know if that made him any scarier.

"What the hell are you doing back here?" His voice was low and gruff -like a smoker.

"I didn't-" you started, trying to avoid your phone -it was shadowed in the dark. You doubted he could see it-

And then his eyes flicked directly to it.

You literally could not have had a worse day.

Instead of reaching for it, he eyed for you to instead. And for a second, you thought he might've been trying to help you. That was wrong.

With your phone in your hand, the man promptly put a gun to your head. From a distance, yeah, but still trained directly into the center of your forehead. Was he going to kill you? Just like that?

This was suddenly very real, you swallowed back tears and nearly dropped your phone -trying to raise your hands up.

"Please," you begged, slowly and shaky but clear enough for them to hear.

"Shut up," he hissed out, "-listen. Take your phone, and call 'em."

"C-Call who?"

"Don't play dumb with me," the man echoed out, and you heard the click of the trigger pulling back -dear god, "-we know you're close to the twins, we've been watchin' your place for months."

"Okay, okay-" you breathed out, it felt like your lungs were full like you were suffocating-

Tears burned at the backs of your eyes, as your fingers, shaking, scrolled around the contacts app -he hadn't texted you or anything so all you had was his contact. Only for emergencies, he'd said.

You almost wanted to scare him once, but the idea felt so very stupid now.

Clicking call, the man nudged your hand, speaking lowly, "Put it on fucking speaker, now."

You dutifully did so, even if it took a few tries to hit the button -your hands were shaking enough to blur the screen. Your head was spinning, and the only thing your could feel was the cold metal beneath your legs.

Why did you ever think this was a good idea? To get caught up with... with bloody men who had a mysterious job?

You were moving back home if you made it out alive -the city wasn't worth this.

"'Ello?" His voice was spent, and you could hear the raggedy breaths puffing out of his chest -somehow hearing his voice calmed you just a second.

The man nudged you again, so you spoke, "Tangerine?"

He must have not been paying attention, because your shaky whisper -wet from your tears, you were crying, went relatively unnoticed.

"Little busy at the mo-" you heard a solid hit and what sounded like a crack, "-ment, you sure this is important, love?"

The man kept his eyes laser-focused on you, you took it as a sign to keep talking.

"T-Tangerine," you repeated, more inflection -the shake in your voice unavoidable.

The noise on the phone, suddenly got very quiet -you heard him mumble something to Lemon 'you got 'im?' before seeming to pull his full attention to you, "Everything okay, love? You sound... Is somethin' wrong?"

The man looked at you, expectantly. You took it as to tell him what was happening, clenching your nails into your skin -it might bleed. The pain was distracting, even just for a moment.

"I-I'm," you tried, but your voice cracked, and your breath turned into a sob, "T-There's a man, he has a gun to my head, I don't- I don't know why-"

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Tangerine spit out, something fierce in his voice, "Lemon-"

The man snatched the phone from your hand, voice low and in a growl, "Seems I got something you want, Tangerine. It's only fair."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Doesn't matter," the man deflected, "-all that matters is that I have your little nurse, and you have no idea where we are."

The van, suddenly without warning, started up again -swinging back onto the road. You braced yourself against the wall, mindlessly blinking -this isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real.

You could hear the pounding of his footsteps -rushed, like he was trying to get somewhere, "If you lay a hand on 'em, I will fuckin' rip you apart, piece by excruciating piece. Slow and fuckin' steady, for hours-"

"You say that as if you know where we are," the man responded, "-as if you have a chance of finding them in time."

In time? your brain chimed, and everything felt so far away now.

"I swear to fuckin' god-" he spit out, venomous, "-if you hurt 'em-"

"Yeah, yeah," the man retorted -confidence in his tone, "-I got that part, fruit."

You breathed out, swallowing back tears, and wiping your eyes so hard that you were seeing spots; maybe this was all a dream, maybe you had just fallen asleep at work-

"Hate to do this to you," the man echoed out, "-but we have to go. Let's hope we see each other later, for your sake."

Tangerine nearly yelled through the phone, but that didn't stop him from hanging up.

At the next stop, the man moved back to the front -taking your phone with him. You sat alone, in the back of a van, in complete darkness.

Would this be the last thing you ever see? Really?

It was just like you were in the city, so incredibly alone. At least you had a chance then, to remedy it. Now... Now you weren't even sure you'd be breathing in a few hours.

"Oh god," you breathed out a big exhale, a sob bubbling up your throat -you had so much left to do, "-oh god."

The van didn't stop for what felt like forever, bumpy roads and quick turns -they were speeding the whole time, and you had no idea how they weren't pulled over. But maybe it was because of the hour, it was fairly late.

The door swung open before you could think about anything else, two men rushing in and grabbing you by the shoulders -dragging you out.

"If you scream," you felt cold metal to your neck, "-you're dead."

"Aren't you going to kill me anyways?"

"Only if your friends," the other man retorted, "-don't behave."

They tied something around your eyes, leaving you completely in the dark -gloved hands squeezing your shoulders so tight, they were definitely going to bruise. Three sets of feet pattered along what sounded like concrete, as your mind went numb -the cold, bitter air filtering over your skin.

It was echoing now, after you heard the swing of some heavy doors opening -must have been a big place. Your mind was reeling, you felt like you weren't even really there.

Then, without a word, they threw you forward directly into a brick wall -seemingly latching a door behind you. Your head spun for a moment as you tried to reorient yourself -blindfold still on, as you pulled it off you felt a stickiness on your forehead.

Pulling your hand in front of your face, you realized it was blood. How hard did you hit your head?

Your fingers flitted across it again, and you hissed. Apparently very hard.

You tried to look at your hands, see how much blood, but it was all shadowed -the darkness didn't change much from what you saw in the blindfold.

Hands shaking, you leaned yourself against the wall -tears steadily making their way down your cheeks. You could cry now, freely, as you finally were brought back down to your body.

This was really happening. You were in some dingy old room, and there were men outside who wanted to kill you to get at someone else. You were expendable, a pawn.

Any moment, any feeling, and they could just kill you. You'd die here, and nobody would know what happened to you.

You'd be one of those news stories you couldn't believe.

The brick scratched against your head, but it was kind of numbed by your headache -pounding where you knew the split of skin to be. Or where you could've guessed it was anyway.

That couldn't mean anything good.

Your breaths were starting to hollow out, low and slow, your body coming back to the cold concrete floors. You were grappling with your helplessness, what the hell would you do? What could you do?

You were... you couldn't do anything. You were done. This was it, all that work for... for you to die in some dingy old room alone.

And then, you thought of something you hadn't thought to. Something you'd never let your mind dig into, not really, because at the time it seemed stupid.

Tangerine.

You'd always known there was something there, something bubbling under your skin. Even with everything, you still... there was something.

Something warm in your chest at the idea that he came to see you. That it wasn't just for the help anymore. And he was handsome, and he promised to save you and his eyes and his arms and his hands-

Before you could think about it for too long, something interrupted you.

Boom.

It made your ears sting, the noise bouncing along the walls -you flinched where you sat. Breath sudden in a gasp, you stilled. Almost like as if someone could see you, like you were hiding.

There was some shuffling outside, someone messing with the latch on the door -they were struggling. Maybe because their hands were shaking? They were trying to get in-

And then, right outside the door was an even louder-

Boom.

It makes your head sting, squeezing your eyes shut so hard that you see spots. You swallowed, trying to calm the pounding in your head, rubbing at your temples.

Gunshots, you recognized, suddenly, they were gunshots.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, they were right outside the door. With a gun. With a gun-

Before you could think of anything to say, the rattling at the door started again -the scratch of metal against metal. It sounded more frantic now, somehow, and your whole body froze. Maybe if you didn't move they wouldn't hear you?

The door swung open, light pouring in that made your eyes sting. The door pounding against the wall -loud and opposing.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you held your breath, staying completely still -hoping the shadow hid you against the walls. One hand covering your face, waiting until a figure steps into the room.

And when one did, cast in shadow, you sat very still. Watching their head twist around the room, back and forth -looking, searching.

You bit back a sob, let me live, let me live.

Then, they spoke.

"Love? Are you in 'ere?" He echoed out, "-Or was that fuckin' twat lyin'-"

"Tangerine," spilled out of your mouth as you rushed forward -wrapping your arms around him in a huff, "-holy shit, Tangerine-"

He stood frozen for a second, unfamiliar with the affection, you assumed. You inhaled a shaky breath in, the whiff of his cologne keeping you stable, there. You were safe-

His arms slowly met around you, unsure, but settling comfortably. Holding you for a second, just a second.

"Are you alright, love?" He pushed back a little bit -blue eyes scanning over you, "-Did he fuckin' lay a hand on you?"

"No, just-" you breathed out, pushing through the pain, "-he slammed me against the wall, I hit my head pretty hard, but that's-"

"Your head?" He asked, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into the light, "-Come out 'ere, love, so I can see."

"It's not really-"

Tangerine let out a big sigh, turning back to you, "Let me help you, yeah?"

You pursed your lips, eyeing him for a moment -he was relatively unscathed, just a blood stain on his shirt and maybe some busted-up knuckles. His hair was still in place and his suit jacket uncreased, he felt composed -sturdy. Stable, really.

"Okay," you whispered out, letting him guide you out the door -you hissed at the little light you did see, almost instinctively squeezing your eyes shut.

"Sorry, love," he spoke, soft and gentle, "-can't control the sun for you."

"You could block it," you remarked, "-god made your shoulders insanely broad for a reason."

He laughed, moving in his place so less light shone on you -hands moving to hold your face (tilting the wound into the light), "You think my shoulders are broad, then?"

"Duh," you responded, something in your head woozy -you stumbled a little in place.

"Shit," he reacted, hands smoothing to your shoulders, holding you up, "-Can you 'ear me? Stay fuckin' awake, yeah?"

"Okay," you blinked heavily, trying to see him clearly.

When you did, he stood there eyes desperately searching yours -looking at you, concerned. They scattered all over you, settling on the split on your head for a bit too long -it was still pounding in your head, made you flinch a little.

"Do you think-" you started, "-Do you think I need a hospital?"

"No," Tangerine breathed out, fingers dusting along your wound, "-just need someone to watch ya overnight. And to clean you up a bit."

"Wouldn't..." you echoed, "-Wouldn't a hospital do that?"

Tangerine met your eyes, his lips quirking into a smile (just barely), "You think you're fuckin' funny, yeah?"

"I'm just making a point," you deflected.

"Just-" he sighed out, before connecting your eyes again, "-let me help you. I want to, yeah? I really fuckin' want to."

"Okay," you echoed out, relaxing into his touch -relaxing finally, "-fine."

"Good," he tsked, and without hesitation wrapped his fingers around your wrist, "-now, let's get out of 'ere, shall we?"

You did so, eyes squeezed shut tight because all the light did was hurt. But Tangerine soothed you, hand still on your wrist, ("Close your eyes if it hurts, love, I've got you.") and guided you along, even sitting you down in the car and pulling the seat belt along your body.

"You know I could do that myself, right?" You spoke, eyes squinted open -the car was much darker.

He didn't dignify you with a response, sliding into your side and shutting the door behind himself. He silently settled into the seat beside you, like the passenger seat was taken. Which it decidedly was not.

His blue eyes kept darting to you, and you could feel his leg pressed against yours.

"You know that I'm fine, Tangerine," you exhaled, looking to him, "-don't you?"

He didn't respond, so you continued.

"You looked at my wound, I'm alright-" you laughed a little, "-I can sit in the backseat by myself."

Tangerine seemed to think for a second, before speaking decidedly, "If you go to fuckin' sleep, love, you won't wake up. I'm 'ere to keep you awake."

You could feel his breath fan over your face, and you swallowed. You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, as your eyes stayed on his (blue, blue-). With another intake of breath, you snapped them away -eagerly looking out the window.

Well, you thought to yourself, you're doing a really good job, Tangerine.

The city blurred by, as it made way to more familiar silhouettes but not... not yours. Not ones near your home.

"Um," you spoke, particularly to Lemon (who was driving) "-are we not going... home?"

"You serious, love?" Tangerine offered, blue eyes decidedly matching yours.

"Are we not-"

Lemon interrupted -catching your eye in the mirror, "You were kidnapped, mate. Do you not remember 'at?"

"No, I do," you huffed out, eyes dashing between the two of them, "-they didn't get me at home though, they got me off the street."

"Doesn't mean anythin'," Tangerine countered, jaw twitching ever so slightly -he really didn't like talking about them, "-'Ey 'ave eyes on your home, 's how they made the connection to us."

"Tangerine-"

"He's got a point," Lemon responded, fingers tapping along the wheel, "-takes too much effort to prove 'im wrong, trust me."

"Lemon-"

"Why do you even want to go home, love?" Tangerine interrupted, eyebrows furrowed -genuine curiosity.

"Because it's my home," you reiterated, "-it's familiar. I know you guys may have forgotten the feeling, but it... it would make me feel a lot better to be home."

Tangerine sighed, a deep heavy sigh, "How about a compromise?"

You pursed your lips, eyes flickering across his face (god, was he pretty), "I'm listening."

"We stay at the hotel a few nights until they cool off," he offered, "-and then, you can go home."

You sighed out in relief.

"But," Tangerine clarified, "-me and Lemon need to stay with you for a while. There's not a fuckin' chance you're goin' alone after this. Especially so soon."

"What so-" you started, "-you guys are going to constantly be around me? I have work, and I... I need to get groceries-"

"We 'ave to be, love," Tangerine spoke in almost a whisper, soft, "-these people, they're not goin' to be as fuckin' nice next time. Lemon and I know 'at."

Right, you thought to yourself, mysterious jobs. They've probably done something like this before.

You involuntary shuddered, thinking about the darkness and the gun and your life-

Tangerine looked at you, eyes darting around your face -a slosh of concern sliding over his features, flickering in his eyes. It was no wonder those thoughts had come to the forefront of your mind, he was so protective of you. There's only so much you can resist feelings for someone who so very much values your life.

A handsome someone, your mind tsked.

Before he could open his mouth though, you turned your head back to the window. A familiar swirl bubbled into your stomach, you couldn't chance looking at him. Afterall, getting flustered with him was surely a dead giveaway and there was no way in hell Tangerine felt anything remotely the same.

And that was plain embarrassing.

You felt suddenly like you were in school again, and were crushing on a jock -that never even looked your way. It felt pretty hopeless, and even though it did, it didn't stop you from going to every game -just to pretend for a little while.

Was that what patching him up was? Your own sort of way to be close to him, to pretend for a moment that everything was different.

Shit, you thought, that is embarrassing.

Luckily, you severely doubted Tangerine would ever know. You were pretty good at keeping secrets. Hence, well, the whole reason you were even here in the first place -you regularly housed assassins.

It took only a few minutes after that (feeling blue eyes boring into your side the whole time) when Lemon pulled into a parking spot and you arrived at the hotel. Lucky for you, it was far from a dingy old place on the side of the road.

This place was way above your paygrade. You had never even dreamed of living such a luxury; all golden accents and marble floors. You hardly even knew this place existed in your city.

"I take it back," you whispered to Tangerine, as Lemon strode up to the front desk to request a room change, "-we can stay here forever."

You saw the woman point to you, clearly in concern and you suddenly remembered the wound on your head. Your fingers smoothed along it, and you grimaced, Lemon seemed to come up with some sort of explanation, though. And she promptly looked away.

Tangerine laughed at your words, a quiet little chuckle, and fell rather silent. You peered over at him, wondering why he hadn't said anything back; and when you did, he seemed to be stealing little looks at you -silently fidgeting with his rings.

You pursed your lips in thought for a moment, debating asking him about it.

Before you could, he opened his mouth to say something -eyes lingering on your face, like he was trying to memorize it (something in your chest fluttered), "Love, I-"

"Sorry, mates," Lemon interrupted, eyes dashing between the two of you for a moment, "-rooms are booked tonight. Lady says we can try again tomorrow but she doubts it'll 'ave changed."

"So," you swallowed, "-just two bedrooms?"

"Yep," Lemon popped the p, "-and hate to say it, but I'm gettin' one by myself. You lot can figure the rest of 'at out yourselves."

Something was gleaming there in his eye -something mischievous; you frowned -heartbeat stuttering in your chest.

Maybe there's a couch, your mind chimed -a little patheticly.

As fate would have it, there was. And an entire kitchen and living space -an expensive kitchen and living space. You were truly floored by this place.

"This is a hotel, right?" you questioned, eyes lingering on the high ceilings (you decidedly did not have those).

"For rich blokes," Lemon clarified, "-the kinds 'at hate to 'ave anythin' besides luxury."

You spun around, eyes darting between the two of them, "Like you two?"

Tangerine frowned, and Lemon snorted -disappearing off into the kitchen; leaving just you and Tangerine alone in the living space. That being said, each room was actually divided, with no open concept -just archways.

You slung yourself onto the couch, inelegantly (but when were you ever elegant) and were pleased to find it felt like clouds, "Why, if you could pay for this, did you ever come to my apartment? They probably have an on-staff nurse you could page, good god-"

"Eh," Tangerine mended, voice calm and confident, "-like the company better 'ere."

You smiled to yourself, small and quiet, heart fluttering in your chest. You are not making this easy, fruit man.

You cleared your throat, about to shift the subject because you frankly could not address the fondness in his eyes. Instead, Lemon came to your rescue with a smile.

"Well," he spoke, "-I'm fuckin' exhausted, I'm off to bed. If you need anythin', ask Tangerine."

And then, with that, he left -disappearing behind one of the doors down into the hallway.

"You can't sleep," Tangerine said suddenly, "-your head... We've got to get you to a doctor in the mornin', so they can look at it."

"Why not tonight?"

"I truly fuckin' doubt anyone of credit would be open this late," he explained, sauntering up to your side and sitting down (when he had the whole couch).

"Tangerine," you spoke, "-the emergency room doesn't just... close."

"I just," he sighed out, leaning back into the couch "-I want you safe for tonight, yeah?"

"I doubt they'd show up to a hospital," you reasoned, weighing your words.

Tangerine frowned.

"Look, I just-" you paused, "-you don't have to be on watch duty. You need sleep. Just take me to the ER, and I'll-"

He scoffed, repeating, "There's no fuckin' way you're going alone, love."

Swiping the keys off one of the tables near the door and shooting Lemon a text, he grabbed your hand and guided you outside.

The night was a surprisingly quick one, as you were taken into the ER and looked at. They quickly bandaged and stitched your wound, even sending you in to get your brain looked at. Tangerine was dutifully by your side, all night, even when they told you they'd rather keep an eye on you tonight. Something along the lines of what Tangerine said, keeping you awake.

He did, however, end up getting some sleep -slouched over in a hospital chair. One of those plastic ones that really could not be comfortable, and you knew his back would ache in the morning. But when you asked him to, he straight refused to leave ("No fuckin' way, love"); so, you were sort of glad he had gotten some sleep after all.

Then, the next morning, they set you on your way. Quickly reminding your husband (it was the only way Tangerine could stay overnight) of all the bandage changes and consistent eye he should keep on you; he seemed rather serious when listening -eyes intent, and almost as if he could, he would take out a notepad and write each thing down extensively.

You were touched, something in your chest swirling widely.

Was this how he felt when you took care of him?

Well, you sort of doubted so, because they were different circumstances. Despite the closeness and the fingertips on the skin, it was less protective and more domestic. Something very different in the closeness there, and the presence of him now.

Even now, as you leaned onto the couch, scrolling through channels -you felt his eyes solidly on you.

"Tangerine," you tsked, bandage smoothed across your head, "-I'm fine."

He blinked, as your eyes swam over his face and a pink dusted along his cheeks, "That's not what I- I was just... just lookin', love."

You furrowed your eyebrows, curious, tilting your head, "Why?"

Tangerine paused, blue eyes bubbling along your skin -like he was considering his answer, or maybe deciding on one. You thought for a second that he wasn't going to say anything -wordless, as always.

"Need to change your bandage," he deflected, getting up, grabbing some supplies, and roaming over to you on the couch.

You groaned, leaning your head back against the cushions -so soft and cloudlike that you almost couldn't stay frustrated, "We just did that."

"'At was yesterday, love," Tangerine hummed, smiling ever-so-slightly, "-the doctors said-"

"The doctors said," you mocked his accent, shaking your head with the words, "-spare me the speech this time, Tan."

He smirked, face so close to yours now (peeling the old one off, rough fingertips dusting along your forehead), "Fuckin' argumentative today, yeah?"

You swallowed, eyes darting between his -back and forth, responding shortly, "Maybe."

Tangerine furrowed his eyebrows at the quickness of your response, dabbing at the wound quickly -cleaning it. He was gentle, with tiny little movements; it was hard to imagine these were the same hands that hurt others. He was so soft with your wound, why-

"You alright, love?"

He was a breath away, blue eyes (upon finishing the bandaging) matching yours, intensely. Tangerine just had an intense stare, like you simply held the world in your hands. It was like he didn't blink, even though you knew he did.

You swallowed, for a moment, eyes dashing along his face -it really was totally unfair. Your cheeks grew a little hot at the closeness, you saw his eyes dart to it -eyebrows furrowing together.

Good god, it really was like high-school again.

"What, yeah-" you laughed, awkwardly -eyes darting away from him, "-why would I not be?"

Tangerine hummed in thought for a second, and you could nearly hear the gears in his head turning, "Love... you're actin' really fuckin' odd right now."

You fidgeted with your fingers, watching them in your lap -you couldn't think straight right now. This was all new in your brain, and when was the last time you had feelings for someone-

"I'm not," you answered, finally -a bit like a toddler who was getting in trouble but the meaning all the same.

He sighed out a breath, seeming to settle on something and you could almost feel his eyeroll.

And without another second, you felt his fingers on your chin. Rough fingertips brushed against it, as he tilted you back to face him.

You blinked.

His blue eyes flickered along your face, slow and tedious, "You know you're safe with me, yeah?"

"Tangerine," you exhaled.

"I'd-" he started, eyes dipping away before coming back to yours -so genuine, "-I'd save you without the deal, you know 'at? Anytime, anywhere-"

"Tangerine, that's not-" you faltered, he was so broken open, vulnerable, to you right now. Something in your chest heavy, and your heart ready to spill on your tongue.

"I'd shoot 'im over and over again if it made ya feel safe, love," he continued, fingertip brushing along your skin like he was cradling your face, "-I'm sorry I ever let 'im put a fuckin' hand on you, you 'ave to know 'at."

"Tangerine," you sighed out, soft, "-That's not your fault."

"It is."

"Tangerine-"

"You're afraid now, aren't you?" He echoed out, a soft sort of whisper but filled with intent, "-How does 'at not mean I'm responsible? I never should've-"

"Tangerine!" You exclaimed, resorting to using your hands to cup his face -bringing him back down to earth, "-I'm not... afraid."

He paused.

"Well, yeah, I am, but it's not-" you tsked, before sighing, "-I know you'll keep me safe. I don't know how I know, I just... do."

He furrowed his eyebrows, "Then why-"

And then, as normal, your brain stopped functioning, words coming out before you could think them over, "You're very pretty."

He opened his mouth, a smirk smoothing onto his lips. You didn't let him continue.

"And I'm not immune to a pretty man caring about my well-being," you clarified, swallowing -somehow maintaining eye contact, "-I'm not... good at handling it."

"You're..." he started, a quirk of a smile on his lips (not that you were looking), "You're fuckin' flustered, love?"

"Mortifyingly embarrassed," you corrected, your voice squeaked out.

Tangerine laughed a little, "Ya sure you didn't hit your head too hard?"

"Ha ha, laugh it up, mustache," you responded, rolling your eyes -much more comfortable. The banter was easy.

"Well," he tsked, and you were suddenly very aware of how close his face is to yours, "-you apparently fuckin' like it, love. What's 'at say about you?"

You swallowed, "Didn't say it doesn't suit you."

"Hmm," he hummed, and there was a flicker of something in his eye -mischievous, "-guess not."

"Nope," you popped the p -awkwardly. Your eyes darting between his frantically, you felt something building in the air a moment -heavy as your eyes sat on his, and his on yours.

It was almost as if, a look, one glance held your entire being in the balance.

"I think you're quite pretty too, ya know," he echoed out, low and gravelly -you could feel his breaths scattered across your face. He was suddenly very close to you again, the fuzziness that banter provided snatched away.

Something twisted in the bottom of your stomach, as you opened your mouth -letting out a very quiet, "Thank you."

He seemed to take those words, just absorb them in the heavy silence that had bestowed upon the room. There was a part of you that wished Lemon was still here, that he could pull you apart but he left early that morning. And now, here you were, and all you could think about was his lips and that stupid fucking mustache-

You blinked, clearing the fog, and clearing your throat -backing up and standing to your feet.

Tangerine slowly came to the realization, the haze drifting out of his eyes, as they came to default onto yours -still intense but not as close. You could handle this.

"Anyway," you bit your lip, "-I'm kind of starved, do you... want anything?"

"Do I fuckin' want anythin'," he mumbled to himself for a moment -hands carefully putting the old bandage on the table and arranging all of the supplies so they wouldn't fall off.

And with a slow measured breath, he rose to his feet -steps teetering closer to you. His hands found solace in his hair as he rifled it up a bit, and on the cuff of his shirt -you saw a little blood. Was that from you? From your bandage-

"I've got somethin' in mind," he finally said, a little distant from you, but nothing like before (maybe just a few steps away from the closeness of the couch).

"Yeah, um," you cleared your throat, but it still felt dry, "-what do you... want? I think we've got like some... fancy tortilla chips and salsa, which... is a good one, or-"

He laughed a deep sort of low chuckle, erasing those steps you talked about before. You swallowed, words trailing off; there was a little spark in his eye when he noticed that you had -pride.

"You are really un-fuckin'-believable, you know 'at, love?"

"I think you've told me before."

He laughed at that, shaking his head, and you felt the breaths of each one scattered along your face -brushing onto your lips. You snapped your mouth closed at the thought.

Deep breaths, you thought to yourself, deep, deep breaths. You can do this.

Tangerine grew rather silent, before words seemed to bubble out of him without thinking, "You."

"What?"

"I want you, love," he clarified, "-in particular, I'd really love to fuckin' kiss ya right now, is 'at alright?"

"I didn't think you were the type to ask," you quipped, before you could really think about it, again.

He furrowed his eyebrows, a bit in defense.

"No, I mean-" you scrambled for a minute, "-you feel like the kinda guy that does it-"

"It?"

"-in like an emotional rush. You know? Like no words, just... just..."

Tangerine sighed, but you could see the quirk of a smile on his lips -you hadn't scared him off yet apparently.

"Sorry," you squeaked out, and you definitely saw a smile smooth across his lips.

"I'm fuckin' askin' ya, love. Say yes or no, yeah?"

"Yes," it came out in a rush of breath, a little like it clawed up your throat with desperation, "-yes."

Tangerine didn't hesitate a second longer, pushing forward with a force unmatched -big hands coming to cup your face at the hinge of your jaw. It was desperate, almost like he'd been waiting to do this awhile and the idea of that, made your breath catch.

You briefly wondered when it started, before he pushed into you further -hands righting themselves just below your ears on the back of your neck. He made you bump into the wall behind you. Tangerine promptly swallowed your squeak at the sensation, as easy as breathing.

Of course he was good at kissing too, your mind chimed, so unfair.

And then a more coy voice spoke up, but hey, he does want to kiss you though, I'd count that as a win.

Yeah, you decided as his mustache scratched ever so slightly at your upper lip and his hands dropped to your waist, definitely a win.

He pulled back a moment, breaths ragged and slow -eyes darting over yours, "Was good, yeah?"

You decidedly didn't answer him, pushing forward to kiss him again -this time a little slower, less rushed. He was just as slow, fingers holding your waist just slightly tighter like he didn't want you to leave.

Why the hell would I leave?

Tangerine was the one to part that time too, eyes slow to open like the kiss had affected him just as much. Your heart beat a little faster at that.

"Take that as a yes, yeah?"

"Oh, definitely," you laughed, hands coming to rest between his chest and shoulders.

He's strong too, your mind unwillingly retorted.

He didn't move, like he was simply absorbing your breaths and to be fair, you were pretty sure you were doing the same. He was nearly panting after all.

Words slipped out before you could stop them, "When I told you to borrow sugar, this was not what I was expecting."

Tangerine paused for a moment, gears working. Before his face flickered into something of annoyance, frown so prominent.

"Good god, fuckin' shut up, love."

"Make me," you offered, laughing.

And he certainly did.

[onyaki]

"such a needy boy"

c. strife

such a needy boy who won't let his needs be met. he's a boxer and you're his doctor. physical therapy, bruises, cuts, gashes, you take care of whatever he asks for. usually he doesn't ask he just barges right into your clinic asking for you to fix him up. one night after one of his matches you notice he doesn't come in. you can clearly see from the stands that he's injured. bruises and a bloody nose, yet he refuses to have you help him by never coming in. but he's too easy to read.

"cloud." you ring his phone, after his coach called to make sure he had come in after his match, as his coach said he seemed unusually distant, seems to have something on his mind.

"why'd you call, you have no reason too." he's just getting out the shower, his hairs wet and a towel wrapped around his waist. he's sore, not supposed to be though he didn't go to physical therapy with you like he was supposed to.

"whaaat, I can't call a patient? im joking. you didn't come in today and your coach called me to make sure if you did and I had to tell him no. you've never missed a day what's wrong?" you tease him and he has a internal reaction, face heating up just slightly, muscles tense just a bit.

"no response? reacting in the way you don't like?" as his doctor you're supposed to study his reactions he's felt like this before and hates the reaction his body gives.

"anyway. come over, you're beat up I need to make sure nothing's broken. your coach will kill me if you come in too hurt tomorrow for practice."

"right now?" he finally says something.

"yes right now. who cares how late it is, don't come to the clinic come to my place. I cleaned up just for you, it's nice over here promise." your place is nice, the tv speakers playing music low, the low hanging lights above you island just dimmed enough to see the counter. the dim accent lights from your room making the entrance to your room visible.

"just come over. I need to examine you, make sure nothing's broken."

"alright." he's already gotten his clothes on, right when you told him he could come over he'd dropped his phone on the bed, putting you on speaker, listening to your voice from afar.

"I'll see you soon cloud."

he shows up at your front door, soaking wet.

"it's raining? and you walked? why didn't you have your driver take you?"

"why? im capable of walking aren't I?"

"you are. you're a boxer capable of many things. I'll get you a change of clothes, feel free to shower I'll get you towel."

"thank you."

"we're doing manners today? you never say thank you." your voice disappearing into the hall as you grab a towel. "what's going on with you today? got something in your mind?" you walk back up to him with a change of clothes, a towel and a rag. "don't smell like ass, I won't examine you like that."

shit, he thought. he's been feeling a little needy all day. he even let himself get beat up during his match. so you had to touch him, you are his doctor, you fix him, bandage him, but there's plenty of other things you could do for him.

"needa get my head out of the gutter." he mumbles to himself.

"hm?" you tease, knowing whatever he just said wasn't for you to hear. "the bathroom is the second door down the hall, I'll be waiting on the couch." cloud walks past you his towel and clothes in hand, and you make your way over to the couch.

--

"done?" he came out with his towel on his head to dry his hair. you get up from the couch, walking towards your kitchen counter.

"yeah."

"sit on the counter."

"why there?"

"it's so much easier to examine you when you're not sitting where I have to work 10 times harder to even look at you. so just sit here. plus id rather be able to talk to you as well rather than just examine you, and talking to you while your on the ground is weird makes me think you're dead," you laugh a bit, and he smiles slightly.

"so, what hurts?" you question before touching.

"nothing."

"if nothing hurts I wouldn't be a doctor. now what hurts."

"my back," he sighs not wanted to admit his pain

"and..?"

"my chest."

"annnndd..?"

"that's it I swear, that's where I mostly I got hit today." he shifts in his spot, fidgeting a bit.

"your match was looked a little, off I guess I don't know how to describe it."

"I let myself get hit."

"you wanted to see me that bad?" you question, teasing a bit. he's quiet. "im joking, don't be cold and take your shirt off,"

he pulls his shirt off and as your about to touch he stops you grabbing your wrist, and pulling you closer to him. "you really don't know why im here, would any of your other patients really come over just to get an examination?"

"I don't know any who would," the two of you almost as close as you can be, your waist pressing on the counter between his legs, you wrist being pulled by cloud, and your faces so close together that you could've kissed him. "but I also don't know any of my patients who are as needy as you are. you don't think ive realized how needy you are whenever you come in? you sit down and you do everything you can to make me be touchy and teasing."

"the whole point was for you to notice." he closes the distance between you and him, touching on your waist, slipping his hands under your shirt to feel some skin.

"such a needy boy." you tease, and he lets go of your wrist, putting both hands on your waist. he leans in, kissing your neck, nipping at the skin. you squirm in his hands, almost asking for more.

"admit it, admit how needy you are."

"I really need to admit it after kissing your neck like that?"

you get close to his ear, grining. "yeah, that's what I want." your voice gets breathy, and he gets touchier. "talk to me, tell me how needy you are."

"hm, i'm not one to just tell you." he says leaning in to kiss your neck. he takes your hands putting them around his neck. as your hands rest he leans in a little more, kissing your neck even more. covering you in bruises just like the ones he has on his chest from his matches. "you look good bruised. we should switch places one day, im sure id be a good doctor"

you attempt to bite back but he hikes up your shirt. "bite down." unfortunately for you, your tough act falls down and you do as he says. with your shirt in your mouth you stuggle to whimper and moan, his cold hands slowly pawing around your body, you look him in the eyes with an annoyed look seeing how much he's teasing you "don't look at me like that, it's not my fault you tease me so much," he whispered.

you let go of your shirt, whimpering a little from his touch. "it is your fault, you're so easy to tease."

"am I still easy to tease as im touching and kissing you all over?"

"a little less easy,"

"yeah? well im about to make it a lot harder." he pushes you off of him, getting down from the counter, tugging you back to him by your wrist, shoving you between him and the ledge of your counter. "don't touch there." you decided it would be a good idea to touch on his bruises, if he's gonna bruise and bite you, might as well return the favor.

"shit–" his voice breathy and his grip on you starting to loosen. "trying to kill me?" a sense of pain shocks him a bit, and an unexpected wave of pleasure. you take your hand palming at his dick. he huffs, his shoulders collapsing into you, his head resting on your shoulders.

"easy to tease, easy to pleas–!" he takes his hands, from your waist, trailing his hands to your cunt.

"if you're gonna be bogus, we'll both have to be a hot mess."

[stinkysam]

Serge “Frenchie” - Same difference ?

Warning : none

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : “I have a silly little thought about fluff with a male reader where Frenchie and him bond because Frenchie is french(from France) and reader is French-canadian(from Quebec)” - anon

Reader : male (he/you)

A/N : I'm not from Québec so I tried to find words/sentences the reader could use to make it more obvious where the reader is from but it's hard. I can't Google translate it 😔 I hope it's not too much tho but it was fun looking for sayings and shit // FYI the word Nice is also the name of a big city in France. Also I hope my pareil/paris joke lands ._.

You were presented to the rest of the boys shortly after they regained their anti-supes activity.

Butcher never questioned where you came from, so they all thought you were from around here as well, that is, until you got to Frenchie.

You awkwardly sat there on the couch in front of the TV next to Kimiko. Hughie, M.M, Butcher and Annie were gone.

Only you, Kimiko, Frenchie and 3 or 4 dudes hiding some white powder in various objects to export them somewhere were there.

You turned your head back, bored, watching what Frenchie was doing.

You listened closely and you could hear some music playing in French. Was it Koba laD you could hear ?

That made you wonder. Was it a random French song in his playlist ? Was he French ? Or was it both ? The way he spoke was weird too, he had like a small accent… Could he be French ?

You stood up, taking in your surroundings, stopping to let a guy pass, before walking to Frenchie slowly and looking at what his hands were working on. It looked like a bomb but the timer kept doing whatever it wanted.

“Rah, putain, cette merde veut pas marcher !” He complained, throwing his tools on the table in frustration.

You looked at him with a surprised expression, your staring grabbing his attention.

“Quoi ?” He asked, a hint of annoyance still clear in his voice.

“Criss, c'pour ça ‘Frenchie’ ?” You asked, now understanding such a name. He listens to French music and has an accent because he is French.

He looked at you, confused. What do you mean ‘that's why’, of cou- wait, did you just speak French ?

He looked at you, studying you. ‘Criss’ ?

“Why else ?” He replied, hands on his hips, his French accent sounding more noticeable to you suddenly.

“After ‘Mother's Milk’ did you really expect me to question your name ?” You crossed your arms and tilted your head.

“Fair enough, mon ami.” He chuckled. “T’es d'où ?” He asked, his right hip against the desk he was working on.

“Québec. Toi ?”

“Aah.” He nodded slowly, understanding better, scratching his chin before speaking proudly, smiling. “Marseille.”

“Nice.”

“No, no,” He started, making you frown in confusion. “Marseille.” He repeated. “Not Nice. Pas pareil.” He said, shaking his head, seemingly proud of his joke.

You stared at him for a second and spoke.

“Pas Paris ?” You replied, making him frown in confusion, quietly repeating your words before finally understanding your joke.

“Wow, it's… even worse than mine.” He said, slightly amused. His wasn't funny but yours ? He shook his head and grimaced. Down right bad.

“You go low, I go lower ?” You tried, eyes squinted, a smile tugging at your lips.

“I fear that sometimes it's better not to, mon ami. To keep your uh, dignité or whatever.”

“Mh.” You nodded, acting as if you were thinking about it before continuing. “Non. J’préfère going lower, tsé.”

“So the unfunny jokes are a deliberate choice, huh ?” He asked, turning back toward the desk, grabbing a few things and you hummed.

“Mais chu bon public, sinon.” You quickly said as if to reassure him you had a regular humor. “Tu fais-tu une bombe ? C'quoi qui marde ?”

“Je sais pas, ça me casse les couilles.” He replied, going back to his original annoyed mood.

“Can I help ?”

“You know how to make a bomb ? Or program a timer ?”

You shook your head ‘no’ and Frenchie seemed to think for a moment before nodding to himself and waving you to come closer.

“I'll teach you.”

Since that day, you, Frenchie and Kimiko were often found together, if not always.

You both liked learning things. You, how to use a weapon and reload it accordingly. Him, how to speak French Québécois.

He learned Kimiko's sign language that only her and her brother spoke, so there was no way he wouldn't want to learn yours either, even if it was close to his.

You’d teach him sayings and words. He loves hearing you swear, he finds it so funny. Though he makes sure to not laugh at you because he doesn't want your wrath directed toward him.

While you can lose your words in English and stammer, you never seem to lose them in Québécois.

Sometimes he doesn't understand you because you're speaking too fast or using sayings he hasn't learned yet. He just nods as if he's gotten it and looks at Kimiko, who has even less of an idea of what you're saying.

He has trouble speaking French Québécois because it's the same as French but with different rules and sayings and he struggles getting rid of the French rules he's learned. It sounds the same so why is it so different ?

Can't say the same about swear words. He knows them and will use them accordingly.

Everyone hates when you two are not speaking English during important discussions.

“What is he saying ?” Annie asked quietly, looking at you.

The French she learned at school was way too rusty to understand anything, like everyone else's, even though they got a few words, but understanding what you were saying ? Beyond impossible. Your accent was too strong.

“Speak slowly.” Said M.M, hoping it'll be easier. But instead of translating or repeating slowly, you continued.

“Câlisse ! On r’trouve le head-popper là pis on lui pop sa tête à ce mangeux de marde d’Homelander, pis un coup parti ; sa blonde.”

Butcher turned to Frenchie to translate but instead he spoke in French too.

“Mais tu sais où le trouver ?” He asked, not caring that the others didn't understand. Ignoring Butcher's annoyance.

“Super-powered children's orphanage ?” You replied simply.

“Qu'est-ce qui te fait penser qu'il vient de là ?”

“Nothing. Mais c't'un start.” You said as if it was obvious.

“Oi, will one of you stop blabbering nonsense and speak English ?” Butcher intervened, his patience wearing thin, holding his hand between you and Frenchie as if to physically stop you from speaking more.

“He says… we can try finding the head-popper to kill Homelander and Stormfront by checking the super-powered children's orphanage.” Frenchie finally said.

“And what makes him think they're from there ?” Butcher asked.

“As I said, it's a start. A possibility.” You replied, shrugging. “Don't know why they popped Rayner’s head, but they can't be on Homelander’s side.” You added.

“And why not, eh ?” Butcher frowned, turning toward you a bit more, wanting to know your logic.

“Because our head would've popped already, no ?” Frenchie answered, getting what you were thinking.

Everyone stayed silent, maybe you two had a point. But whoever it was who popped Rayner’s head couldn't be on the ‘good’ side either or else, they wouldn't have done it.

You had half a plan found, only the other half was needed.

Traduction - Translation :

Rah, putain, cette merde veut pas marcher. - Rah, fuck, this shit refuses to work.

C'pour ça ‘Frenchie’ ? - That's why ‘Frenchie’ ?

T'es d'où ? - Where are you from ?

Toi ? - You ?

Pas pareil. - Not the same.

Pas Paris. - Not Paris.

Dignité. - Dignity.

Non. J’préfère going lower, tsé. - No, I prefer going lower, you know.

Mais chu bon public, sinon. - But I’m easy to please, though.

Tu fais-tu une bombe ? C'quoi qui marde ? - Are you making a bomb ? What's not working ?

Je sais pas, ça me casse les couilles. - I don't know, it pisses me off.

Câlisse ! On r’trouve le head-popper là pis on lui pop sa tête à ce mangeux de marde d’Homelander, pis un coup parti ; sa blonde. - Fuck ! We find the head-popper then we pop this shit-eater Homelander’s head and his girl’s too while we're at it.

Qu'est-ce qui te fait penser qu'il vient de là ? - What makes you think he comes from there ?

Mais c't'un start. - But it's a start.

[ghostofthemost141]

Heard

Pairing: Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader, First POV, no use of (Y/N)

Word Count: 2,388

Themes: Platonic Relationship, Fluff, Comfort, Some Angst

!Warnings!: Some Homophobia Violence (none of it comes from you or any of our main men and isn't graphic) and some !18+! Suggestive Talk

About: You and Soap have been best friends for many, many years and are completely inseparable. When he is home from a mission one night, he invites you to y'alls usual late night talks in the park, except this time it is different.

Notes: I'm a little iffy about this one but I hope y'all enjoyed it and I promise I will do more Ghost x Reader soon I just wanted to give Soap some love. I am gonna pick Bonnie again for this fic but for my next Soap x Reader I will pick another name to use and reader also has a accent in this. And this is an AU were Graves and Shepard aren't traitors (even though Shepard is the absolute worst). Enjoy!

“What a damn day..” I mumble to myself as I saunter into my apartment. 

Today was a rough and busy day at the job, but at least I was off for the next two days so I can just relax with a good beer and watch some good TV and maybe even catch up on some reading. There’s so much you can do in two days of freedom. Speaking of beer, I think I will have one now. As I was walking into the kitchen to grab a beer, my phone started ringing. That’s weird, nobody really ever calls me this late at night. Probably my mum. I grabbed my phone to look to see. 

Soap 🧼 is calling..

Oh Johnny! Damn it’s been a day or two since I heard from him, he must’ve just now gotten a break from the mission he was currently on. I answered it quickly. 

“Johnny!” I greet him. 

“Hey Bonnie.” 

“You doing alrigh’, mate?” I ask. 

“Meh could be better.” 

“You back home yet?” 

Silence was met between the two of us. I knew Johnny was still on the line for I could still hear his breathing on the other side. Usually he is a big converser, so he must be tired. 

“Johnny?” 

“Can you meet me now? Please.” Johnny begged. 

This was unusual for Johnny. He sounded frantic, worried and even scared. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Everytime he would come home from missions, we would meet out at the park nearby to talk about his mission and anything that happened while he was gone. I assume he was back home if he was frantically asking to meet up with me. 

“Yeah, of course. I just got home so it will be a minute. Are you okay?”  I ask, hearing his tone that was out of character for him. 

Johnny was silent for a moment except for his shaky breaths. What happened Johnny? 

“MacTavish. Are you okay? Are you safe?”  I asked. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m safe. I promise. I’ll be at our usual spot.” Johnny told me. 

“Okay, be there in ten.” I said, going through my clothes to find something to throw on. 

“A’ight.” 

Johnny then hung up the phone and I couldn’t help but feel a very sour taste in my mouth from that. I don’t think I have ever heard Johnny sound so..scared. Man goes into battle with a high risk of dying and would always retell it to me as if it was nothing but a walk in the park. Something must’ve happened to make him really scared. I eventually found a long sleeved t-shirt, some lounging pants, and mismatched socks to put on and did just so. I thought maybe I should bring some tequila or bourbon but then again, Johnny always told me what to bring and this time he didn’t. Fuck it, I’ll bring it just in case. You never know. I grabbed some bourbon, slipped my shoes on, grabbed my keys, and rushed out the door, knowing Johnny is probably waiting for me. 

~

“There ya are, MacTavish.” I announced my presence as I made my way to the park bench he was sitting on. 

“‘Ey, Bonnie.” Johnny softly said. 

Okay, something definitely has happened. Normally Johnny would come up to me and greet me with a bear hug or even a handshake when he first sees me, but now he was sitting still and speaking oh so softly to me. What’s going on? 

“What’s going on, Soap? Talk to me. You sounded panicked over the phone.” 

I sit next in front of him, offering my hand for comfort. Johnny immediately took it and held it, squeezing it even. Johnny and I have been best friends for many, many years now that you could consider us as non-blood siblings. We talk to each other about everything, do just about everything together, and are always there for each other. As we grew up, everyone thought we would end up together as a couple but we never did. We just stayed really, really close best friends and stuck with each other through the thick end. And yes we have had some arguments, as any normal pair of siblings would, but that was mostly when we were younger. Now we are both older adults, we just bicker at each other until the other gets annoyed enough to just ignore the other. Johnny kept squeezing my hand, and I could even feel him shaking. And it’s not from the cold weather that’s going on right now. 

“Johnny..” I reminded him that I was here. 

His bright blue eyes looked up at me. He looked terrified. 

“Lass, talk to me.” I reassure him, leaning in close to him, “you know you don’t need to be scared with me.” 

“I know..” He softly said. 

He was finding the words to say to me, but I will sit out all night if that’s what it takes for him to talk to me. 

“Something..happened, during my mission.” Johnny started. 

“Go on.” I ushered him. 

Johnny paused once more, still trying to gather up the right words to say. 

“You want somethin’ to relax ya?” I offer the bottle of bourbon to him. 

He stares at it for a few seconds before shaking his head. 

“No, but thank you, Bonnie. I appreciate it. I appreciate you very much.” 

I know he wasn’t necessarily thanking me for thinking about him by bringing him the bourbon, but for just being there for him in general. 

“Remember last time we talked?” Johnny asked me. 

I racked my brain to remember and luckily I did. 

“Of course I do. You were talkin’ about how Price was cursing under his breath about how he lost a damn good cigar when the airplane crashed.” I recalled. 

Johnny chuckled when I said that. Of course we talked about much more than that, but I figured I’d try and lift his spirits a little. 

“I had to hold back me laughter when I heard that over the coms.” Johnny admitted. 

“I don’t blame ya.” 

I have met Price plenty of times and you can tell he cares about the boys a lot but also doesn't take shit from nobody. Would offer his shoulder to cry on but will get pissed at them if they touch his whiskey kinda guy. The mood quickly went back to the way it was before, so it was time to be serious. 

“You mentioned to me how you were working through your feelings and emotions. As well as who you are attracted to.” 

The second it left my mouth, Johnny’s eyes wallowed in tears. I squeezed his hand as he sniffled in response and leaned his head forward, his forehead resting on our locked hands. 

“Johnny..” I call him, rubbing his head. 

Suddenly Johnny broke out into incoherent sobs. Tears ran down my hand as he just sobbed and sobbed. 

“Johnny, come here.” I called him as I got up quickly and got next to him so I could hug him. 

Johnny immediately accepted my hug, sobbing into my shoulder. 

“I’m so stupid, stupid..stupid.” 

I heard Johnny mumble through his sobs. I held him tightly, rubbed his back, and cooed at him with as many comfort words as I could think of. What in the bloody hell happened? 

“Johnny you’re not stupid.” 

“Yes I am.” 

“No you’re not Johnny. I am here for you always. No matter what it is.” I reassured him, hoping to soothe him a little bit. 

Johnny managed to finally calm down a little bit and I let him pull away from me. 

“I’m sorry..I just..” 

“Don’t you apologize you wanker. You never ever have to apologize with me, Johnny and you bloody know that.” I gently got onto him. 

He knows better than that. 

“Just talk to me. Tell me what happened so I can help you out.” I told him while squeezing his shoulders. 

Johnny wiped his face clean and managed to calm down, just enough to talk to me. 

“We were out at dis bar where we were stationed at. And at that poin’, the only person I ever told about how I was feeling internally was Simon.” Johnny started. 

“Does he accept you?” 

“Fuck yes he does. He told me ‘I don’t bloody care if you’re gay or what, you’re still my teammate and friend, Johnny.’” 

I felt relief wash over when he told me that. You’re a bloody good guy, Simon Riley. 

“That’s good, Johnny.” I say. 

“Yeah,” Johnny sighed before continuing, “it was aye, Simon, Gaz, Price, Laswell, Shepard, and Graves there. Um, there were these arseholes who were picking on a kid who was dressed very femininely. They assumed he was gay and started hurting him. Of course, I step in despite Shepard telling me to back off.” 

I could feel anger boiling inside of me. Their own General telling Johnny to not help an innocent civilian? What a coward and ball-less of a man. 

“What a focking jerk-off.” I cursed. 

“So I stepped in, didn’t want to make too much of a scene. They leave the poor fellow alone but they target me. I ain’t afraid until they started accusing me..” 

“Accusing you of what, Johnny?” I ask. 

Johnny squeezed my hand tightly and I could feel his whole body start to shake again. I rubbed his hand, trying to soothe his nerves. 

“Accusing me of being a..I don’t even wanna say it, but that word they use against gays. I just..shut down when they said it. Like I didn’t want to even accept it, ya know?” 

You shook your head over what Johnny just told you. You hated that he went through that, especially since he was still internally trying to figure out his own feelings. 

“And because I shut down, they were able to swing at me and I was knocked down on the ground. Simon had to step in and help me and I just felt so stoopid. I let something like that get to me.” 

“Johnny, you don’t need to feel stoopid over something like that. It’s understandable since you’re still figuring out your feelings and you were caught off guard.” I reassure him. 

“Yeah, well now everyone knows about me. I wanted it to stay with Simon, but now they know.” 

“How do they know?” I ask. 

“I..” 

Johnny paused. 

“They don’t really, but I can tell they know something is up. And I am scared.” Johnny confessed. 

“Why? Literally the only person I am iffy about is Shepard, but everyone else, they should be supportive of you, Johnny.. And if they don’t, then you’ve got Simon. Fuck everyone else if they don’t support you, but at least you have Simon Riley.” I say, trying to lift his spirits of the only person he can count on. 

“There’s something else..”  Johnny softly said. 

“Oh? What is it?” I ask. 

Whatever Johnny was about to tell me, I could tell it was going to be harder than what he just told me. 

“Please, just don’t judge me for it..” 

“Johnny, you know I never would judge you for anything.” I reminded him. 

“I know it’s just..Simon and I..” Johnny paused once more. 

“Yeah?” 

“Well, by the time we all left the bar, all of us were kinda tipsy except for Simon. Bloody lad is never drunk or acts like it no matter how much he drinks. So we went back to our base and later on, Simon came to check on me. And uh..” 

Johnny’s face instantly turned red. Beet red. I didn’t even need him to tell me what happened cause I already knew. 

“Oh Johnny!!” I cried out with excitement, poking him in his ribs making him giggle and flinch. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Johnny said. 

“Sooo?” 

“So wha’?” 

“All I am gonna ask is, was it a good night?” I ask. 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus, yes it was.” Johnny answered, making me laugh. 

“That’s good.” I say. 

It fell into a comfortable silence between us, but there was a question burning in my mind. 

“Johnny?” 

“Hm?” 

“Why were you so scared to tell me that, you know, you’re gay or bi? Whichever you feel like you fall more on.” I question. 

Johnny sighed deeply. 

“It ain't 'cause I didn’t think you’d accept me, I guess it’s cause I am having a hard time accepting it myself.” 

“That’s who you are and clearly Simon accepts you at the very least and I am sure everyone else will too. But if they don’t then Simon and I can beat their asses.” I half joked. 

“You’re right. I am just glad you are in my life, Bonnie. To know that if everyone else hates me for whateva reason, that you’ll still be supportive of me.” Johnny told me. 

I don’t think I have ever heard Johnny ever be this sentiment ever in over twenty years of being friends. 

“Of course, MacTavish. I’ll always be here for you.” I told him. 

Johnny then pulled me into a tight hug and I hugged back, instantly feeling the guilt and fear rolling off his shoulders. 

“Now, give me that damn bourbon. Let me tell you what Price did while we were gone this time ‘round.” Johnny announced, instantly back to his normal self. 

I laughed as I passed the bourbon to him, knowing he won’t drink enough to make him not be able to drive back home. We talked for hours and hours, till the sun started peeking over the horizon. Despite the both of us being exhausted, it was worth it in the end to be able to talk with my best friend, my non-blooded brother and to let him know that he indeed had at least one permanent supporter in his life. If Johnny has no supporters, then Simon and I must be dead, cause that’s the only way he wouldn’t have any supporters in his life until we know for sure how the rest of the task force feels, but I know they are going to accept him. They have to, or else they’re gonna get a special paid visit from both Simon and I personally. 

END 

[hallucinateonpaperspines]

what would happen if Ashley ended up in gotham, DC universe ?

You. You are my favorite person of the day.

Honestly, DC is so big and extensive, that I'm going to limit this to Gotham for the sake of my mental sanity. Unlike Tim Drake, I do have a caffeine limit that no number of red strings and corkboards can alter.

Just for fun, Ashlyn won't know anything beyond a casual viewer. No OP knowledge here.

How she's here is anyone's guess, some dimensional mishmashary thinning the lines between universes, some ancient relic that a villain didn't quite know what it was for before they used it, or maybe Constantine finally pushed the line too far. Maybe it was a combination of all the above.

Either way, Ashlyn's here now :)

It's quite the discombobulating experience, stumbling out of a snow-capped forest only to find yourself in the middle of a city that looks like the child of Chicago and New York going through a goth phase.

Eventually, she finds herself at a storefront. The window display has attracted a small crowd of people, as she can just make out the tell-tale glow of digital lights peaking out between silhouettes. Slipping through, Ashlyn weaves her way to the front and is met by a display of several TVs hidden behind bulletproof glass.

GOTHAM CITY NEWS! Seven heads were recently dropped off at the Gotham City Police Department. Who is this killer and what will their theme be? Breaking News: The Joker is at large, still no leads on how he escaped Arkham Asylum again. Please report suspicious clown activity, and keep gas masks on your person at all times. Join us later at 5 for-

Ashlyn bangs her head on the bullet-proof glass for a minute. A few people walk by a tiny bit faster, but for the most part, Gothamites continue on with their days.

It's the cold that gets her moving, no sense in freezing to death.

Honestly, Ashlyn fits into Gotham pretty well. Sketchy people are rather common, so her lacking any proper ID is overlooked and getting some fakes is stupidly easy. Her nonchalance towards the violence and slight PTSD over weirdly specific situations isn't uncommon either. Ashlyn gets mistaken as a Gotham native regularly, and quiet a few people are shocked when her accent doesn't match what her behavior presents.

Of course, the blending in doesn't last for long.

It starts with her neighbor. He's disturbingly quiet. Which would be fine if his apartment did stink of blood and guns and the walls weren't thin enough that she could hear every scream in the odd hours of the morning.

Ashlyn never sees him, not particularly surprising given the type of people this derelict building attracts. She's not judging, she's here too, but it just wouldn't be surprising if the pookie-bear next door is a snitch on the run. Or a serial killer.

She starts leaving cookies outside the door after the really loud days. It's a neighborly thing to do. She's not soft.

The world feels a little brighter when some bread is left outside hers.

... Dang it. She's going soft.

Que this weird shuffling of baked goods that gradually graduate to small meals being left out. It's the battle of returning the Tupperware and neither is going to return it empty.

Oddly enough, she doesn't see her neighbor's face during these exchanges. No, that update comes when she's reading out on her crummy balcony (it's late, the power has been cut again, so it's just her, a ratty book, and a circle of candles) and she looks up to see some dork pulling themselves up to her neighbor's side.

A book projectile later, a quick convo to straighten out the details, and a returned (blessedly indented) book later, all is well and silent. They are never going to mention this event again... other than giving the side eye and sometimes crawling over to help with medical emergencies she doesn't mention it. At all.

Ashlyn Moore can keep a secret. That's what initially flags Jason Todd's attention.

Of course, the entire Batfam gets pulled in after videos of the same woman surface. Ashlyn is gaining a viral reputation, smack-talking the Joker and pointing out that his goons were patsies in his bank heist, asking Poison Ivy for tips for her herb garden, joining Harley in psychoanalyzing commentary on a hostage situation, and always being weirdly calm yet feral civilian witness.

As a fun "training" attempt, bets are placed on who this strange, Gotham but not Gotham person is. By the end of it, Drake does have a red string board and it's covered in drawn-out question marks. Nightwings gets heart palpitations every time he rescues this girl and she is like "Eh, not my first zombie attack, he's less than a story tall the wimp," or "Hurt? Yeah I'm pretty sure I've got compression fractures on ribs 7 through 9. Maybe a sprained wrist... oh and a laceration on my calf, but I can hobble run so I'm fine!" or "that's a very sad clown, I've seen a spider with a scarier smile. It glowed. Literally glowed from all that acid."

The situation is not improved when Constantine shows up panicking because some dimensional entity is here but hasn't done anything, so when it does something it's not going to be good.

It gets even worse when she accidentally calls Red Hood "Jason."

[l0v3morales]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗹'𝘀 𝗪𝗶𝗳𝗲

❁𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝗠𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆𝗴𝗮𝘂𝗿𝗱.

❁𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗘𝟰𝟮 𝗠𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗠. 𝘅 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

❁𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝟭

❁𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝟮ೃ⁀➷https://www.tumblr.com/l0v3morales/723754917638078464/once-upon-a-dream

"𝗬/𝗡!" You hear your father call, just what does he want now? He hardly ever talks to you, only time he does is when it's about his business. He wanted you to take over the business next, that's all he ever cared about.

"What?" You say with attitude, clearly annoyed.

"I'm tired of you always misbehaving and wondering off alone! It could ruin 𝘰𝘶𝘳 reputation, 𝘮𝘺 reputation!!" You actually always snuck out and misbehaved on purpose, you 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 to make him look bad to get back at him for never giving two shits about you. So you just snickered at his comment, this is what you wanted.

"So young lady, I have a wonderful idea. I got you a bodyguard! Not only is he going to keep you safe, he's going to make sure you behave." Obviously, this wasn't good news. How were you supposed to get back at your dad for making your life a hell hole? Plus, sneaking out and misbehaving was actually the only fun thing to do in your life. You don't really have any friends since your dad always keeps you in the house trying to prevent you from ruining his reputation. 𝘎𝘰𝘥, 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦.

"Whatever." You just agree, there's nothing you can say to change his mind. 𝘉𝘶𝘵, you do have an idea. You'll just annoy the shit out of your bodyguard till he quits.

"So, when do I meet my bodyguard anyway?" Maybe, this was also gonna be fun. You have nothing better to do than annoy the shit out of your bodyguard till he quits.

"He should be here in-" Before he can finish his sentence there's a knock on the door. "That should be him! I'll get it." He says, rushing to answer the door.

Your eyes widen in surprise when your dad opens the door, the guy looks your age. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭. Just looking at him makes your heart race, but you can't forget your plan to make him quit.

He walks over to you introducing himself, "𝗜'𝗺 𝗠𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗠𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗹𝗲𝘀." God, even his accent is hot.

"Right, I'm Y/-"

"Yeah, I know." He says rudely cutting you off, with an annoyed tone. Probably just didn't wanna be here, or something. Still, it was rude he cut you off.

"Alright, whatever. I'm going to my room." You say, just trying to get away from him. He just seems so grumpy.

"Oh Y/N, one more thing. Miles will stay with you in your room at all times, except for when your changing of course. Just to make sure you don't sneak out or anything." Your father says. 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭? 𝘋𝘰 𝘐 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘶𝘥𝘦.

"Okay then.." You just go up to your room after and watch TV bored, there's nothing you can do. 𝘌𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, since he's here. Hell, the only thing good about him is his looks 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵.

𝗣𝗶𝗻𝗴!

Your phone screen lights up as you get a text from one of your friends, Aurora.

𝘈𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘢

"𝗬/𝗡𝗡𝗡𝗡𝗡 !! 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝗮 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁, 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲! 𝗜𝘁 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝘁 𝟭𝟮."

𝘠/𝘕

"𝗔𝗹𝗿, 𝗶'𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗿𝘆. 𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗯𝗿𝗼 𝗜 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆𝗴𝗮𝘂𝗿𝗱 𝗯𝗰 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗻𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘂𝘁."

𝘈𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘢

"𝗧𝗳?? 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝘄𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝘀𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆𝗴𝗮𝘂𝗿𝗱 ? 𝗜𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗮𝗻 𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗺𝗮𝗻😨 ??"

𝘠/𝘕

"𝗡𝘂𝗵 𝘂𝗵, 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝘀 𝗿𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝗮𝗴𝗲🤭"

𝘈𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘢

"𝗟𝘂𝗰𝗸𝘆 𝗮𝗳, 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗴𝘁𝗴. 𝗧𝘁𝘆𝗹 𝗯𝗮𝗲 😍."

You sigh as you shut your phone off, you see your bodyguard just sitting on one of the couches in your room. It's weird just having him in here, but you gotta get him outta your room so you 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺.

❁𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝟮?

[straightasaaro]

my review of the agggtm live action tv show

hello! I just finished watching the agggtm tv show and I have some thoughts. Here are some warnings before you read below the cut.

I have literally only watched the show and (and read) book once so not every detail will be accurate. If I think I got something wrong, I will make it known.

This is my opinion!!! If you hated or loved the show with all your heart, don’t make that my problem!

I’m not British so I can’t comment on Emma Myers accent.

and finally because they are always some lurking in fandom, racists DNI

spoilers for the rest of the agggtm trilogy below

Alright so to start I think the show, on its own, is good television. It’s got intrigue and the pacing is good and the humor is pretty good at some parts however. I have three main issues with how it deviates from the book.

Show don’t tell.

what many shows have trouble with is telling the audience something instead of showing it. In the books, Pip pretends to be a CNN reporter and e-mails old students of the school about drink spiking. She’s told that it happened to quite a few female students. She hears that Andie sold roofies. She was told by Jesse that Becca got the morning after pill and wouldn’t tell who she slept with. She was told by Andie’s friend (or Becca’s, I do not remember) that Jason was controlling and pit them against each other often.

So pip makes the connection that Becca was raped by Max Hastings and found out that Andie was the one who sold the drugs. Pip is the one who connects the dots that Becca must’ve confronted Andie and it went awry. But in the show Pip is just told outright to protect her drink and that Becca was raped. I think the show did a lot of this, cutting Pip’s slow process of unraveling the murder in exchange for quick answers to immediate questions. It also dials down how clever yet morally questionable Pip is.

Cut cast and scenes

I get that a show with a low budget probably won’t be able to afford as many actors or sets as a high budget show but I’m genuinely shocked how many side characters (or interviews) were cut or down sized in the show. Stanley Forbes is the most obvious one because he plays a much larger role in the second season. Andie’s best friends too-in the book it was specifically mentioned how she could be emotionally manipulative and terrible. It showed how, while everyone thought that Andie was perfect and Sal was the villain, Andie was actually awful. It plays to the trilogies bigger theme of stories never being what they seem from the outside. The show did not show this as well.

Pip x Ravi took front and center

I get that BookTok prioritizes ships and romances and that well liked tropes and hot couples can be a great aisle of advertising. But what the fuck? Everyone on BookTok also talks about how much the romance as a subtle yet powerful thing was so beautiful. I don’t have a good enough memory but I really feel like way too much emphasis was but on their relationship, pushing away Pips love for her friends and family and even Ravi’s family. Was it just me but who else thinks it’s really weird that they cut the scene where Ravi’s parents passionately thank Pip for clearing Sal’s name? It showed how much the family had been freed from being the “shun” “scum” family.

Thank you for reading. Go watch the show if you want. Emma Myers was adorable. Good day ✌🏽

[ricky-tiki-tah]

Your au makes me happy. Do you have any little tidbits of information that are unlikely to be used for anything, but remain in the back of your mind regardless? Kinda like the TV preferences thing. I'd love to hear anything you're willing to share.

I’m glad you like it, this au and it’s versions of the characters are my children I love them so much!

- FazMike is able to hack into just about anything due to Freddy being connected to the internet.

- Jeremy was kicked out for being trans and was in the process of looking for a place while working at the fnaf 2 location. Freddy did a background check and then Mike invited him to live with them and Evan.

- Mike hates talking to people because he twitches and stutters due to being fused with Freddy. Freddy usually takes over and it’s very disconcerting to the person they’re talking with because they go from Mike’s strange mix of American-English accent, to Freddy’s more “customer service” way of speaking.

- It’s pretty easy to tell the two apart if you know them. Freddy still talks close to his animatronic form and is kind of a mother hen, while Mike is looser with his speech and basically a gremlin like Greg.

- Michael’s mother, Carmen, called him Miguel as a fuck you to William before she left.

- Evan’s special interest is true crime and he quickly gained the title of Gregory’s cool uncle after infodumping to the 9 year old.

- Freddy is very weirded out seeing his animatronic self when FazMike takes a job at the Pizzaplex.

- Evan’s Fredbear plush sits on his desk at his fnaf 1 job, the rest of the time it sits on his bed.

- Evan used the name Mike Schmidt for his job and Mike isn’t sure wether he should feel honored or insulted to be used as an alias.

- Jeremy will tell increasingly strange and unbelievable stories about the scar he got from Mangle. The kids at the beach believe he wrestled a crocodile and lost.

- Mike treats Freddy like an Alexa after learning he’s connected to the internet. (this one my gal thought of)

- Freddy is the actual dad while Mike is the fun dad and lets Greg get away with arson and other crimes.

- Gregory has like 4 dads. Animatronic Freddy, FazMike, and Jeremy.

- Jeremy is the only one with an actually stable job, staying away from Fazbear Entertainment. He’s Mike’s getaway driver whenever his boyfriend commits arson.

- I don’t have much on Helpy yet, but he’s definitely there, kinda like a parrot who knows advanced physics.

- Freddy made Evan a snack every night when he worked night shift.

- Mike is missing most of his internal organs after the scoop, but Ennard never used him as a meat suit because Freddy being fused with Mike confused them. Mike is not purple, but he’s got a gaping hole in his stomach for over a year while it heals up. No one actually knows how he’s alive, but they assume it’s something to do with Freddy being there.

That’s all I can think of so far but I’m sure there will be more in the future. I love these asks!

[formula-one-two-three]

I Wanna Be Yours - Liam Lawson

Warnings: fluff, strangers to lovers, Liam Lawson x Verstappen!Reader, mentions of alcohol, a bit of bad language

Author note: I keep falling off the face of the earth I'm so sorry, I hope you like this even though it really doesn't make too much sense and is really bad (P.S. for those of you that read my Marcus fic, I apologise for doing Felipe dirty like that)

Being Max’s sister was a full time job. Having to console him after a bad race, or picking him up after having one too many drinks generally appeared on your schedule. This meant you basically followed him around the world during his racing season. 

You were currently in Monza in Italy, and although Max would not be racing until free practice two in the afternoon, due to a young driver taking over FP1, you were hanging around the garage. You were watching the hustle and bustle of the garage go by, with several people reviewing stats, and another group excitedly chatting about the number of fans attending the weekend. 

Your observations were soon interrupted by several of the engineers applauding, and you soon noticed this was because of the incredible time put in by the young driver, putting him in P9 at the end of the session. woah you thought. Soon, the royal blue car was being wheeled back into its place in the garage, and this mysterious driver was jumping out of the car, donned in the familiar red bull overalls. 

He took his helmet, and smiled at you, which made you realise you had been staring. Luckily, Max’s media rep interrupted, asking if you had seen Max. You pointed her in the right direction, and you were about to exit the garage when a strong New Zealand accent stopped you. “You’re Max’s sister, right? I’m Liam by the way” he explained, extending his hand to you. You shook it “Y/n. Nice drive by the way” Liam laughed awkwardly “Thanks y/n, see you around” Hearing him say your name just made you melt more, as if you weren’t already a puddle on the floor. 

Later that night, you were acting like a teenager, replaying your interaction with him over and over. You had seen him before, and never thought he would actually know who you were. Little did you know, Liam was doing the exact same, tossing and turning, trying to stop his heart beating rapidly whenever he thought about you. He didn’t want to seem weird by calling you by your name, instead he simply asked whether you were Max’s sister. 

At midnight, you crept out of your hotel room to find your brother, who had drunkly texted you from the hotel lobby. You found him there, tipsy but still not able to walk straight. You guided him into the lift, and into his room with only slight protest, that being an argument about whether Max was allowed to be dragged to his room instead of walking. Liam heard all of this, due to his room being on the same floor as yours and Max’s. He opened his door just as you shut Max’s door behind you and started walking towards your room. 

“What happened?” he rubbed his eyes, trying to adjust to the bright hallway. You jumped with shock, not having a clue that anyone had been watching you “Oh my god you scared the life out of me!” You whisper-shouted, clutching your heart. Liam smiled, quietly saying sorry whilst laughing slightly at the way in which you had jumped. “I can’t go back to sleep now” you lied. You had never been asleep in the first place, but you hadn’t lied about not being able to fall asleep. Liam was consuming your thoughts. Liam held his door open wider, motioning for you to come in, and you slipped past him into his room.

“Did we wake you up?” you inquired. “No, no. Of course not” he replied, perching on the bed. You shivered slightly, and he mentally noted it, flipping the covers up “do you want to watch a movie or something” he waved his hand towards the TV opposite his bed. “yeah, for sure. Do you mind..?” you asked, practically already under his duvet. He nodded, and you two put a romcom on, purely for the fun, and for the fact it was too late for horror. 

“I don’t think you understand how many of my thoughts are about you” he exclaims, clutching her hand. “I think about you all the time, sometimes I find myself lying awake, thinking about waking up next to you and kissing you goodnight” she smiles, tiptoeing up to kiss him. “I love you, Patrick, I have loved you since the day I met you” she gases into his chocolate eyes, and kisses him again, string symphonies weaving past them, the camera panning out. ‘STARRING’ burns through the screen in bright white writing and the credits start to roll. 

Liam shuts the TV off with the remote, and looks over to you. You giggle slightly. “What?” he enquires “No it’s just how unrealistic Romcoms are, you know the big declaration of love, and the yearning for one another, it never happens in real life” he chuckles. “True” he remarks, looking back over towards the dark screen. You both fell asleep after that, not caring that you were in the wrong bed.

A MONTH LATER

Liam still thinks about you everyday. Every interaction leaves him giddy and you never fail to cheer him up. You go out of your way to chat to Liam, buying him a coffee, or a snack, or claiming to be comparing stats of red bull juniors just so you could watch him in his races. You and Liam hang out in the evenings of race weekends often, watching a movie like you did that first night, or playing UNO. 

One night, you had just finished yet another 1990s romcom, and you were laughing at the proclamation of love that ended the movie, imitating the characters whilst clutching your stomach, and rolling about with hysteria. You sighed just as your fit of laughter ended, and you and Liam lay in silence for a few minutes. “Have you ever loved someone?” You ask “Only once” he replies “who was she?” “Well, she was hilarious. She 

never failed to make me laugh, or surprise me and everything was so right with her. What about you?” “Just the once too. Made me feel special, and like I wasn’t just Max’s sister. He appreciated me, and made me laugh” you turned to look at him.

You held your eye contact for what felt like hours, almost with a knowing understanding that you were talking about one another, before Liam reached towards you, pulling you in for a romantic kiss. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you sooner, I guess I was just afraid you wouldn’t feel the same way” you responded by kissing him again, only breaking away when you were desperate for air. “There’s nothing I want more than to be yours” you whispered against his lips. “God, we’re such hypocrites, we sound just like those goddamn cheesy movies” you giggled, and he kissed you once again. That night you fell asleep with your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm and smiling to yourself.

BONUS (this is sometime in the near future)

“Where were you last night? Were you with a boy?” Max pokes his head over your shoulder. You shrug. “What does that mean, how do you not know where you were or who you were with—is that a hickey?” Liam’s head spins around at Max’s raised voice, and Max finally puts two and two together. “Oh you motherfu-“ 

[buckevantommy]

totally completely fine

ok. i'm not a fan of australian tv or movies bc they're always overdramatised or too darkly themed or comedic in a way i don't gel with bc i'd rather watch american comedies (not sitcoms, they need to die a firey death). plus i've never really liked the aussie accent, i've found it weirdly unsettling hearing characters speak with aussie voices and maybe that's bc being an aussie myself and wanting to use tv and movies as an escape so having that stark reminder of my own reality means it's harder to suspend and enjoy a different one for a spell. or maybe it's the fact that i, like a great deal of non-americans, have grown up watching american tv so now any non-american accent just sits weird in my brain. 

but that's why i need to express my love for this show. 

everything from the casting (diverse faces and bodies) and the actors chemistry to the setting and set design, cinematography and soundtrack, and of course the plot and characters themselves. It's so well done. It's a heartfelt dramedy that makes you care keeps you interested in wanting to know how things progress and ultimately turn out. the various relationship dynamics are full of ups and downs and it feels real in that messy way life is. 

the premise: vivian is a young mess of an adult who lost her parents in a car crash that she was also in when she was a kid. she's the youngest of 3 siblings who were raised by their grandfather who dies and leaves viv his cliffside beach house. the twist: the house backs onto a picturesque ocean cliff where people go to commit suicide. the grandfather used to try and stop them, and now it's up to viv to try and do the same. 

intense stuff so far. but this show is hopeful, it's not super dark even though it does deal with strained relationships and mental health and suicide attempts/ideation. the characters are distinct and the way their lives entwine don't distract from their individual journeys; viv is the main character but enough screentime is given to every supporting character that they all feel like main characters in their own right which is how it should be because that's how life is. 

more good news is it's short: only 6 episodes at just under an hour each (it doesn't mince screentime) so i binged it all yesterday when i wasn't feeling great and just. wow. i haven't found anything mentioning a second season but if they did more i'd watch it - but the thing is it ends with both closure and the potential for more exploration of the characters, so it feels like a realistic open ending and works as a single season story. 

i don't know if it's available overseas because it was created by and aired here by Stan (which is like our homemade Netflix) but i hope if you guys are interested you'll find a way to watch. 

bonus thing for me: seeing this story play out in my home (settings and details) was actually grounding in a way i didn't expect. like i mentioned above, most of us grow up on american tv and maybe some uk stuff and while that's good for an escape it can actually be jarring to get back into our real world. but (with good quality programming like this show) i realise aussie productions can make it a lot easier to connect with the physical world around me (not the digital world), to not feel so alone, and to know that it's worth finding productions from your homeland and they don't hinder the escape of fiction in fact they can aid in grounding it in a believable way. 

anyway. just one aussie who doesn't really like aussie-made stuff telling folks to give this show a go because i was pleasantly surprised. 

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(note: if anyone has any questions or concerns about triggering content please message me or reply to this post and i'll fill you in on stuff it does or doesn't feature)

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

So, as people know, I watched a lot of panel shows during lockdown. Too many panel shows during lockdown. My friends were all sending messages about mentally suffering from the lack of human contact, and I was saying I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve seen every single episode of 8 Out of 10 Cats in the last month and I’m fine. Do you want to hear about it? No? Fine, I’ll create a Tumblr blog and tell them about it instead and the only cost will be that by a couple of years later I’ll have totally emotionally disconnected from the real life I used to have. Like I said, my mental health responded really well to lockdowns.

Anyway, that had some less dark effects on my mind as well, one of which is that at some point, British accents started to be the ones I expected to hear. Because I was listening to them all day, and never interacting with anyone in person, I didn’t hear the Canadian accent of myself or the people I know for ages, I just heard these British ones. It maybe didn’t help that I got so focused on the accents specifically, as I tried to overcome my tone-deafness and learn to tell the difference among the 300,000 known British accents that are out there so I could get the jokes based on them, and I mostly failed in my quest but I can at least reliably tell Scottish apart from Welsh apart from Yorkshire apart from Croydon these days. Also I know what Croydon is. (I already knew what Yorkshire was, due to the Monty Python sketch.)

Anyway, I spent so much time buried in that media that when I did start occasionally interacting with humans again (not even when most restrictions were lifted, but when I went to stay with my parents for a while because they were worried about the agoraphobia I was developing/the lockdowns were clearly validating the agoraphobia I had always been prone to but hadn’t been able to enforce due to my lifestyle), I realized their accents sounded slightly strange to me. Not really weird or anything, I’d just hear them and get a tiny sense of “Oh, that’s different from how most people talk.” Even though it is how I talk and how everyone I know talks.

(Please note: I did not actually say this to anyone I knew, including my parents. Because I am aware of the stereotype of a person who goes to Europe for a few weeks and comes back pretending that they’re European now. And the only thing I can think of that would be worse than that is someone who manages to have picked that up by not even going over there, just spending many months locked in a room watching their TV shows. I did not walk around telling people they sound funny because I’m used to British accents now. I am also pleased to say I can confirm that no amount of concentrated panel show watching is enough for me to pick up a British accent myself, though I have normalized a few of their phrases in my head from all the Britcom, I have to stop myself from saying “football” instead of “soccer” on the rare occasions when that word comes up in my real life because I do not want to sound like I think I’m British now. I just genuinely hear that sport referenced constantly in my British media and almost never in my Canadian life, so the word for it in my head has changed. There are two or three other things like that, where my own vocabulary’s drifted toward British-isms as a result of the last few years, but mostly, any British-isms in my vocabulary are there because I read a lot of Phillip Pullman and Harry Potter and CS Lewis and Douglas Adams as a kid, and I picked up words from there, not thinking I was trying to “talk British”, I was just young enough to still frequently learn new words and expressions and I thought the stuff I came across in those books were just regular things I didn’t already know so I incorporated them into my speech and by the time I realized they’re not used here I’d already solidified the habit. Point being that I’ve been saying “brilliant” since long before 2020, and I can get away with little things like that because “brilliant” is a word that means the same thing in Canada and just isn’t used as often – it’s not like I use a word like “trousers” or something that we don’t have here at all. As for the actual accents, the only British accent I can sort of do a tiny bit is Glaswegian, but I can only do it while saying words that Jamie MacDonald said in The Thick of It, because I’ve spent so much time quoting him over the years that I think I can imitate him a bit. If you heard my Glaswegian accent you’d think it was bad, and you’d be right, but it would still be true that I can do it better than any other accents I’ve ever tried. It’s the tone deafness again. People have asked me before why I’ve never tried making music when deep love of music has always been such a big part of my life, and I tell them I don’t even have the auditory processing capability to tell an English from an Australian accent, I sure as hell can’t sing or play an instrument. I realize I’m getting quite far off the point by now. Back to the post.)

Since then, I’m pleased to say I’ve stopped having that feeling in real life, and have gone back to expecting the people around me to talk with Canadian accents, with no little twinge of “oh, that’s a bit different” when I hear it. However, I do still get that with media. I watch British TV and think they’re all talking normally, for how people on TV are meant to talk. I almost never watch American or Canadian TV anymore, so when I do occasionally put on an episode of 30 Rock or something, my brain will have a brief little jolt of “Oh, that’s a notably different accent” when the characters start talking in the exact same exact that I and everyone I know have (non-region-specific American accents = the same as non-region-specific Canadian accents, I’m almost sure, though I’ve had some people tell me there’s a slight difference and maybe I just don’t hear it due to the tone-deafness).

There is one exception to this, as I realized yesterday. I was watching a British TV show that featured children, and that sounded odd to me. It gave me that brief moment of thinking “Oh, that’s interesting, that’s a bit of a different way of speaking than I’m used to.” And I realized that while I’ve gotten very used to hearing adults be British on TV – so used to it that it sounds a bit weird when anyone on TV isn’t British now – I have rarely heard a British accent in a child’s voice. That still sounds like a surprising foreign accent to me.

Anyway, this was an overly long post in which I was just trying to give enough context to say: it turns out that I don’t expect children to be British, and my brain is slightly shocked by the idea. I am travelling to London and Edinburgh this summer, and as much as I think I have obsessively learned about British culture to the point where it's normalized in my head, I'm kind of looking forward to finding out what other things exist in British real life but not in British comedic media so I'll be surprised to see them when I get there. Things like children being British.

[almalvo]

STAR TREK: DISCOVERY | S1E2 "Battle at the Binary Stars"

[I will react to each episode individually and in full, raw reception and then post as is unrevised here onto my tumblr for the full span of every and all NuTrek episodes and series that have been and will be released. If this falls under your field of interest - I welcome your company in joining me. Enjoy the ride.] -------

god this show looks so fucking juicy with all its colours and shapes and resolution … BURNHAM IS SAREK'S WARD??????? bro bro is she a sibling in upbringing with spock or something. everyons so fucking pretty ugh these sounds i really want this uniform LMAO THAT LOOK SARU GIVES BURNHAM AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA saru is so good looking UGHH THIS INTRO I CANT I CANTTTT LOOK AT IT ITS SO PRETTYYY i love the feeling DISCO gives me im so happy for star trek getting such a massive visual and all around production upgrade also i just realised since old-trek's Star Trek Enterprise series, we have been inching closer and closer to the one that started it all. Star Trek ENTERPRISE > DISCOVERY > STRANGE NEW WORLDS…

does this… mean we are…. just possibly……… heading into a reprisal of some kind of "Origins" production in the future non-AOS?

if so i know it will never be a replacement of what is irreplacable. but im actually EXCITED to see something like that. if even it were to be a bad project, it would still be such a tickling spectacle - an experience that reminds us of where we came from.

but also.. to see what came before to be such a modern topic to discuss and potentially (i fucking wish) revive the world with its gravity and vision - all eyes on Star Trek once again……… it would be so worth it. it would be. everything.

anyways back to the episode LMAO UGHHH look at the way all the united federation ships warp in among their brethren ughhhhh ughhhhhhh takes my breath awaayy i like klingon whats odd is it sounds so slow in this rendition man the amount of work it took to get this pronunciation right ughhhh everything looks so pretty in this literally movie quality for a TREK series

no but also one more thing - back to the idea about the future of modern trek, since the movie saga has fallen flat, if we head into a modern revival of TOS, featuring AOS cast as a different universe/mirrorverse or seomthing cameo in TV/STREAMING EPISODIC FORMAT would be just… JUST-

...

i am so curious as to how and why burnham and sarek are even existing together simultaneously ugh damn look at the damage on the ship the detail i love saru's eyes hearing this as the ship's computer voice is so odd to me because im so used to Majel's voice but hey its smooth what is happening also oh my god this mind meld scene is so pretty oh my god im so curious how Burnham and Spock's dynamic even IS THE FUCKKK?? what would that even BE??? i only know spock exists because that is one of the few spoilers ive seen of this show - i KNOW hes in DISCO. as well as pike but thats it. what purpose they serve and why? no idea. and how burnham becomes captain?? god im so curious iits so intersting to hear statements as familiar as "weapons disabled" being said in such a new setting. with such a new sound for somehting so classic. tractor beam WHO WHOS EUROPA? WHATS ON THAT SHIP WHOOO

the human and klingon transmission will never be in peace… until far into TOS's timeline.. man this is so INTERESTING. HEARING KLINGON TERRAN. I CANT LIE i miss their fabulous long locks of hair bro klingon ship is fucking knifing through this ship dude that is so hardcore but also devastating af oh my god this antimatter explosion looks so fucking pretty admiral is gone the chian of command shifts how does this go phillipa doenst become admiral does she? then burnham as captain i doubt its this easy nah its so weird to hear klingon so spaced t'kuvma is such a cool name ughhhh lok at all the WARPPPING SHIPSSSS hearing klingon accent is cool love how smart the ship is oh god burnham you MADLAD yo they goin hard the klingon attire is so victorian english inspired not too keen on that ahha ughhh saru is sooo NICE TO LOOK AT such nice features this ready room is very reminiscent of what is to become enterprise internal design i mean, of course. but i just cant help but hype over it all thats interesting, to have a human taught as vulcan. hmm a subtly different circumstance than that of spock. the visual aberration effect is working well in this series ahaha DISCO has a very…. odd feeling from since its first episode that continues into its second one - it doesnt feel super episodic at all? it feels all like a really long montage. the sets are so pretty whoa those armoured vests though? touch screen energising ughh the gold animation of the energising effect is lovely those klingons dropped so fast and easy from those phasers dude these are some of the sexiest phaser designs ive ever seen. the klingons are just dropping like nothing whoa burnham's yell when the klingon grabbed her was so not her XD it didnt sound like her oh wow we are actually seeing the short handheld klingon knife OH SHIT well i see that this is how phllipa is usurped by burnham.. BRO YOU JUST LEFT HER BODY THERE hmmm interesting the pacing of the first two episodes is very… fast

t'kuvma is dead already?? i think its this pale klingon that ive seen on the comic cover whoaaaa all these shuttle/escape pods leaving like baby toads off momma's back XD (if you know, you know.) its so montagey very consistently - i guess THIS is where we start the series as it is to be? i really like this chiaroscuro lighting hm. its over already huh idk if its me - but apart from the visually and audially beautiful presentation - it has an odd feeling to it i cant lie. i think it must be because of this 2-episode montage. i hope it is.

i guess ill find out.

[crow-caller]

hey, got here from your review of perfected, and i just wanted to say that i also have a little bit of a funky accent (due to having english as a second language, plus weird autistic cadence and a half corrected speech impediment) and i'd never heard anyone that sounded like me use words the way you do. the way you perfectly articulated your points and your beautiful ballad to missy at the end (😔✊ rest in violence queen you were too good for that book) just kinda gave me the fuzzies. i appreciate you putting yourself out there. keep up the good work and i wish you many Good Days ahead

Thank you!!

You and I.......................... kin................

I put this in the comments once or twice when responding to people, but yeah. In Lightlark vid more than once I apologise for speaking because I have been insulted before for my voice and speaking and thus didn't consider myself any good at it. I've been told I have a lisp multiple times for someone who- I've had to be assured- doesn't even have one.

English is my first and only language, but as a kid I spoke a bit of dutch, and my mother is a permanent alien from the Netherlands with a very strong accent, still. When I was about 6 I was made to attend speech therapy in school- which seems really messed up in hindsight, I just recall going for like 30 minutes every so often to practice making mouth shapes.

I'm also autistic, which I suspect plays with my speech a bit. I have mild parroting habits, where my speech pattern and accent will reflect on what I've been hearing. So living in the UK now, more than normal I will pick up slight UK inflections, and if I watch say a tv show where people talk in a distinct way, I will often start matching the pattern or accent slightly. Beyond that my tone is usually a bit funky- a lot of people can't read some of my emotions, most notably when I'm in pain.

So thank you very much. it's been very surprising to hear I apparently CAN speak. I was very sure people might like my content but have to tolerate my voice against their will and I'd get more hate comments about how I speak, but the opposite is true and a lot of people say my voice and speech is good. It was deeply unexpected but very assuring!

[sarahsinwonderland]

would you lie with me and just forget the world // carly sloan

Carly had been sitting in her dorm room when she got the call. The call that stopped her world. Her father’s voice on the line, along with people screaming all around him. She only had to hear ‘Marcus’ and ‘injured’ before she was standing up and grabbing everything within arms reach to throw into her duffel. Her roommate had turned to look at her and the way Carly looked must have been enough for Cecilia to be scared. ‘Bug, you need to come home.’ As if she would have stayed while her best friend, the only person other than Shawn who knew her better than anyone, was hurt. She said ‘I love you’s’ before she threw her keys at Cece. 

“I need you to drive to the airport. Please. Take my car, use it, I just...” She couldn’t break. Marcus. Think of Marcus. Cece nodded and as soon as they both had shoes on, Carly grabbed her bag and they left. Her dad sent her the ticket he had bought her and by the time she hit TSA, she had 20 minutes til boarding. When she was sitting alone in the bursting terminal, that’s when she called Lexie.

“Mommy...mommy how bad?”

“It’s bad. Callie and Link are working on him now.”

Carly forced most of the tears away, wiping the few stray ones that had fallen. “C-can you tell Shawn to pick me up? We’re leaving in 30 minutes.”

After hanging up with her mom and boarding the plane, she had found her seat, the first class window seat, right near the front of the plane. Her bag stuffed underneath the seat in front of her and her head back, hands rested on her stomach as she reminded herself to breathe. 

Until she heard it.

Next to her, the man was watching ESPN, in particular, a recap from the game came on and showed a replay of the game. Carly knew she shouldn’t have looked. But she did.

And she immediately grabbed the air sick bag from the seat back pocket and got sick. 

Not from the image or some weird unexplained phantom pain, but from the sureness that her best friend would likely never make it pro like he had dreamed of for years. From knowing that her best friend would wake up, in pain and mad.

But he sure as hell wouldn’t be alone. An hour later and she was bolting from her seat, bypassing everything and walking out of the airport to the arrivals, seeing her twin standing by his car. A deep breath and a moment to steady herself and before she could say a word, his arms were around her. 

“Let’s go.” She nodded into his shoulder and got into the car, putting on her seatbelt and stuffing the bag under her feet. Her brother drove well over the speed limit, getting them there in an astonishing 7 minutes, less than half the time it should have taken them. But before she knew it, she was running, actually sprinting, through the hospital to get to the place she knew they would be. 

The first one she saw was Nico and he immediately wrapped her in his arms. Her breath was coming out in pants but her arms wrapped tightly around him. She had grown up around them. Nico and Levi were the closest she got to a second set of parents aside from Meredith and Derek. She tightened her hold, pressing her face into the shoulder of his sweatshirt and finally letting go. 

She had held it in for so long, the fear, the pain, the...the agony. She let it all go now, her sobs coming harder and faster. Soon Levi had joined his husband and she was being held by her best friend’s parents, soothed and comforted.

Hours later, she was curled in the corner, her iPad in her lap and the Apple pencil in hand as she journaled every feeling in an attempt to not to think about looking up the video or the news or anything. Nico had turned the TV’s to some kid’s channel and she had spent the first 30 minutes watching some show about cartoon dogs with Australian accents. It was oddly calming. 

When Link and Callie came out, she stood, wringing her hands and standing a distance away before Levi waved her over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. When they were shown to his room, Carly held back her gasp. Her best friend. He looked...he looked nothing like her Marcus. This Marcus was still and silent. Her ray of sunshine was never still. She joked that he would just burst if made to sit still. 

But still she moved to the side with his good arm and sat in the chair, knees pulled up to her chest and grabbed his hand. 

She didn’t move. She was like that when he woke up. Just sitting beside him, asleep with her head against her knees and his hand in her own. 

[gon-and-killuas-mother]

due to the Naruto/Batman crossover i've been reading i will now be stepping into the Batman fandom

i mean, i've always liked Batman, but i never got into the comics bc there's so MANY so i settled for the animated tv shows and movies

specifically, i wanna see more Bruce being a kind person! also i need more Nightwing in my life. Dick Grayson might be one of my favorite DC characters next to Bruce Wayne

unfortunately for y'all this DOES mean i will be composing a self-insert story in my head. there's already one simmering on the mental back burner. it's how you know i love a story or group of characters; i write a self-insert fanfic as a coping mechanism for whatever shit is happening in my life. and boy do i need to pretend there's an edgelord billionaire taking the streets during my waking hours and investing part of his fortune to studying my illnesses during the day

whoops i already wrote something under the cut

i think, for my story, my self-insert has my basic personality and definitely my gender. they're an artist living either in Gotham or Blüdhaven. they use a wheelchair, sometimes a rollator, and deal with my same chronic pain and fatigue. oh and bc i rarely hear southern accents in these shows, this pal is from good ol' Arkansas but moved to follow their kid brother to either Gotham or Blüdhaven

the basic Plot that my brain generated to connect my character to the Bat family hinges largely on chance. Nightwing is on patrol, maybe following leads on the current Mystery. he stops on the roof of an apartment building towards the end of his patrol and takes a breather, sits on ledge and goes through files of evidence etc etc

enter my character (uh let's call them Rhys?) who opens the door to the roof and pulls out their rollator that they've managed to lug up the last flight of stairs, since the elevator doesn't go all the way to the roof. they also have a large art canvas, an easel, and their bag of supplies precariously balanced on the rollator.

Rhys spots Nightwing, who was surprised to see anyone else on a rooftop at 4 in the morning, and they look around and go "I'm not. I'm not interrupting anything, am I? Usually one mask brings more."

Nightwing stands up and assures them they're safe. he's about to leave when they pull a huge thermos from their bag (how did they get all of this up here??)

"My brother gave me this for my birthday a few years ago," Rhys says, lifting the thermos so Nightwing could see it. They pop off the lid, which turns out to be two that can be used as mugs. "Weird kids don't make a whole lotta friends. But he said the easiest way to someone's heart is through a shared cup of coffee."

and how could Nightwing, running on a handful of hours of sleep with at least another eight hours of detective work ahead of him, possibly say no to that?

he accepts the coffee and quietly sends a message to Barbara that he's taking a brief detour, all the while Rhys is setting up their easel and canvas. there's already some rough sketches and a couple layers of paint. Nightwing knows the skyline of this city well enough to recognize it even through an artist's eyes.

Rhys tells him that the sunrises here are unique. back home, the skies were crystal clear and nearly every sunrise was hallmark-worthy. but here, the pollution and glass windows reflect and refract the light in more ways than they could've imagined, and they have a series of paintings stashed in their tiny apartment devoted to color studies.

for one reason or another, this becomes a regular thing. several times a week, Rhys takes the elevator to the top floor, then heaves their rollator and supplies up that last flight of stairs. and every so often, when they open the door, they find Nightwing waiting for them. he starts bringing breakfast with him, but tells them he likes their coffee better (bc there's something about a coffee shared in a thermos that can't be replicated by any coffee shop)

eventually they ask each other about family. obv Nightwing doesn't give too many details, but enough to add to conversation. Rhys only has their brother, as their parents have been out of the picture for years.

one day, Rhys is quieter than usual, and hasn't touched their canvas yet, instead sketching and scratching out and balling up scrap paper etc etc. Nightwing asks what's wrong, and it takes a bit of nudging, but Rhys eventually tells him they haven't heard from their brother in a little over a week. it's not so unusual, but they get anxious anyway. they assure Nightwing that their brother probably just forgot.

then a week passes, and Nightwing is alone on the roof longer than usual. he's about to leave when Rhys opens the door, and he doesn't even have to ask how they're doing because they're pale, fidgety, and the circles under their eyes are much more pronounced.

their brother hasn't returned any calls or texts. more worryingly, his phone seems to have died or disconnected several days ago. Rhys doesn't ask any favors, but they don't have to, because as they're piecing together what info they have, Nightwing is already looking through police databases and missing persons and so on.

he hits a dead end, but one that is more informative and condemning.

Rhys's brother has a file in the system, and it's buried behind a top secret confidential report. something, something, Nightwing makes a loose connection to the case he and Bruce are working on for the A-plot. he promises Rhys that he'll find their brother.

and he does. he and Bruce bust the A-plot scheme involving (insert name of gang) that was responsible for dozens of disappearances. only a few of the victims were saved, the rest had been killed long before Batman and Nightwing stormed the keep.

Nightwing finds the brother. his body is floating face down in the canal a few blocks downstream, along with a dozen or so others. he's been dead for two days at least.

once the bodies are retrieved and safely transported to the nearest hospital morgue, Nightwing heads back to Rhys.

the sky is already turning from black to grey as he lands on the rooftop. Rhys has their easel set up and looks to be halfway through their current painting. they look up, about to greet him, but their smile vanishes when they see how grim Nightwing seems.

they blink back tears threatening to fall, turn their attention back to the canvas and pick up a different paintbrush. they quietly mix different colors on their palette until they're satisfied, before slapping the paintbrush to the canvas.

"Please," they finally say. the tears are flowing freely now. "Tell me what happened."

Nightwing sits on the ledge next to his cup of coffee. he remembers how his heart shattered when his parents were killed. he remembers the crushing despair upon learning of Jason's fate.

he isn't new to delivering this message. to telling an innocent family that their loved one is gone. he's learned how to keep it professional yet empathetic, to hide the worst details while satisfying their desperate need to Know.

there was something different about this one. maybe it was the determined focus Rhys was giving their painting, despite the tremor in their hands and their short breaths.

Nightwing tells them everything he can, save for the worst details. Rhys doesn't need extra imagery for their inevitable nightmares. but he explains the gang, the villain, the blackmailing, and Rhys paints on, only stopping to wipe at their eyes or blow their nose.

he finishes his story and watches them paint.

after some time of sitting in silence, the city slowly awakens and the sun rises. it isn't until the sun is nearly level with the tallest buildings that Rhys drops their paintbrush and buries their face in their hands.

the painting depicts their usual imagery, the sunrise filtering through smog and glass towers. the foreground shows a rooftop, not so different from the one they currently sat on. at the farthest edge of the rooftop, standing on the ledge with his hands raised--perhaps greeting the sun, or waving goodbye to the viewer-- was a boy. Rhys hadn't given him much detail, but they didn't need to.

Nightwing saw not just their brother, but his. that boy could just as easily be Jason as any other kid whose lives were cut short.

Rhys packs their things and stands to leave. they don't touch the painting. Nightwing asks what they'll do with it. Rhys looks at it one more time.

"Take it," they tell him. "I can't look at it anymore."

when Dick comes home with the canvas, he leans it against the wall and stares at it. one of the other Bat family, maybe Steph? Tim? comes in and sees the painting.

"Whoa," they say. "It's beautiful. I've never seen a sunrise look so sad before."