#nor the assholes who run the stop sign around the corner and pass you over the double yellow lines if you go the speed limit

[beaversatemygrandma]

So. Instead of waiting for my dad to get home, i was thinking i could go up to the store that's like ten minutes out and get what i need myself. Because I can now. But there's such a level of anxiety about this even though it's totally legal and safe for me to do so.

You know, this is exactly what that driving instructor was talking about. I have got to be more confident in my driving.

[winterscaptain]

infirmity.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: part four of our 100 arc, covering 5x02, haunted! I forgot how much i love this episode, so i really leaned into this one. it’s a labor of love!! i can’t wait to hear what you all think (i crave feedback and affection) and if you reblog, i’d love to see your cheeky lil thoughts in the tags!!

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 4.3k warnings: language, bad decisions

summary: “a friend should bear his friend’s infirmities” - william shakespeare, julius caesar.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You knock on the door at 8:30 sharp. Almost thirty seconds pass before he answers, and you note the hand on his holster as he opens the door. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you chirp. “Ready to go?”

He turns, gathering his things. “What do we know about this case in Kentucky?”

Thrown a little by the lack of greeting, you follow him into the apartment. The sight of the Foyet files on his desk aren’t foreign to you, nor are they a surprise. They’ve been there every time you came over during his leave (in fact, you’ve sat on them more than once), so why you expected them to go away once he was back you had no idea.

“Um, no connection between Call and his victims. They’re canvassing, but no sign of him so far.”

“Start with his recent history. Find the stressor.” His voice is flat, impassive, and you frown. 

He was just getting better…

You’re about to head back toward the door when -

“Don’t move.”

Right. The alarm. 

He stands by to arm it. “Ready?”

“Are you?”

+++

You arrive at the tarmac, Hotch in the passenger seat of your car. He looks a little resigned, but straightens and takes a breath before he opens the door, settling into his role as he steps out and straightens his suit jacket. 

It’s always a little funny to watch him transform. You’re honored you get to see it, even if he’s in rough shape. 

Especially then. 

You climb the stairs and follow him in, settling in your usual place. 

“Good to see you,” Dave says as Aaron scoots down the aisle. It makes you smile. 

“You, too.”

Aaron gets settled and you shift, trying not to hover but finding it difficult to be separated from him after his weeks of absence. He greets the rest of the team, exchanging pleasantries and checking in with Reid about his knee. 

“Any other attacks?”

JJ shakes her head, while Spencer elaborates. “Call’s proven hard to track. He’s never had a driver's license so he’s probably still on foot.”

“Or public transportation,” Emily notes.

You hum. “He wouldn’t take the bus. His face is everywhere.”

“Has anyone found a stressor?” You weren’t sure if Aaron’s brusque affect was going to continue once you made it to the plane, but his tone just about answers your question. 

Stepping back into authority quickly, there, Aaron. 

“He just lost his job,” Garcia supplies. “He’s worked at a factory since 1990. Made appliances since forever and not a single promotion.”

Derek tilts his head. “That’s a long time to be bitter.”

“Or he doesn’t care?”

JJ looks at Spencer and shakes her head. “Not if he’s got a family to feed.” 

“Actually, he’s of the hermit variety as far as I can tell. He’s got no one. No wife, no kids, no parents.” You watch Garcia’s eyes flicker around the screen as she talks to you, doing what she does best. 

“Nothing to live for.”  Derek’s looking a little too pointedly at Aaron for your taste, but your evaluation is interrupted. 

“So why hasn’t he killed himself yet?”

Your brain sputters at Aaron’s offhand delivery. “What?”

“Sprees usually end in suicide. If he’s got nothing to live for, why hasn’t he ended it?”

The energy in the room grows uncomfortable, fast. Aaron’s voice is still flat - you might go so far as to say it sounds dead, but that inspires a kind of heavy sullenness in your chest you’d rather not subject yourself to. 

You wish Haley was around for no other reason but to kick his ass. 

You’re thankful for Spencer when he answers Hotch’s question. “Because he isn’t finished, yet. We know he has displaced anger. He took it out on the first victim.”

“Well,” Aaron continues, “the stock boy represents someone. We need to know who.”

You meet Derek’s eyes and you can tell he’s trying to read you - trying to see if you’re as concerned as he is. You don’t give him the satisfaction. 

+++

Later, you corner Morgan on the plane before landing, keeping your voice low. The case is in your lap so there’s a valid distraction when you need one. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

He stops and turns. “I thought Hotch was cleared to drive.” 

“He is.”

“Then why did you pick him up this morning?”

You shrug. “I wanted to.” His eyes bore into the side of your head and you look up with an exasperated huff. “What?”

He sighs. “He’s only had a month off.”

“Well,” you say, aware that you’re being pedantic before you even get there, “thirty-four days. That’s a little more than a month.”

His stare is withering, but you’re impervious. “And you think that’s long enough?”

“Are you asking me as his coworker or as his friend?”

“Is there a difference?”

You shrug. “Maybe.” Yes. “But if you don’t think he’s had enough time, you should tell him.”

He scoffs. “No thanks. I like my job.”

“You like him more.” A little smile crosses your face. “Though, I know you don’t like to think so.”

“No. I like you.” Derek corrects. “He also happens to like you, so I tolerate him for your benefit.”

“Much appreciated.” You return to your work, but Derek’s eyes linger. You don’t look up as you ask, “What?”

“What if he has PTSD?”

Still writing, you answer with a general air of nonchalance. “He was evaluated.”

“Oh, come on. We wrote those questions. Hotch knows exactly -“

You slam your pen down and lean back with your arms crossed. You draw Spencer's eyes and lower your voice again. “So, what? Are you going to pick at me until you get me to say something you want me to say?” You let out a sardonic chuff, settling back to work. “If that’s the case, you’re gonna be here a while.” You tip your head a little toward the little table by the window. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

You admittedly feel a little bad for being short with him, but everything seems to be testing your patience today. 

And if you’re honest, you’re worried about Aaron, too. 

After a few minutes of work in silence, you call out to him again. There’s the smallest of apologies in your voice. “Derek?”

He looks at you, dark eyes open and yielding - concerned and forgiving. “Yeah?”

“He’s back because he has to be. He needs to know we’re here for him.”

“He knows that.”

You offer him a small smile. “Don’t let him forget it.” You pause, your head wavering a little bit as your tone turns a touch facetious. “I can’t do all the heavy lifting around here.”

You get a laugh out of him - just a little one - and it’s enough. “Don’t push it, kid. I remember when you were dead weight.”

You roll your eyes. 

That’s enough, for now. 

+++

Even your seemingly-endless patience with Aaron rapidly wanes as you spend more time at the crime scene. It’s frustrating. 

“He was on an antipsychotic?” You ask with a little frown. 

The pharmacist nods. “Well, that’s why I wanted him to calm down. He’s been off of them at least a month, now.” 

“And when were you going to tell us this?” Aaron asks, harsh and sharp. 

You look at him, your frown deepening. 

What the fuck is that attitude?

“He’s armed, he’s delusional. Who’s his doctor?” Hotch’s tone grows even pointier, somehow, as he pushes harder. 

“I don’t remember - my computer…” She gestures behind the desk, where the computer has been fried by a bullet. 

“Great. That’s great.” He walks away, already making a call. 

“Excuse us,” you say in an attempt to recover. Derek echoes you and you try to avoid running after Hotch as he strides down the aisle. 

Long-legged asshole. Slow down. 

“Hotch,” you call. He doesn’t listen. 

“Call JJ and tell her about the meds.” He’s still walking. You’ve caught up. 

Derek chimes in, gesturing back at the pharmacist. “This is not her fault.”

Aaron turns on him. “Morgan, he’s in a psychotic break. It changes everything.”

“You want to talk about this?” Derek asks, taking another step closer. 

Squaring up to Derek’s shoulder, you’re ready to pull them apart if they get really heated. 

Wouldn’t be the first time.

In some ways, Morgan’s admission on the plane was truer than he let on. You are the link between Derek and Aaron, almost like a balm. You see things in them that they can’t see in each other. It helps. 

With a pang, you think of Haley, for some reason. 

You miss her. 

“No.” Aaron’s interruption is sharp and it startles you out of your thoughts. “I want to find him - Garcia,” he turns, continuing on his warpath forward, “he’s been off his antipsychotic for a month. What else did you miss?”

Your mouth drops open and Derek’s about to deck Aaron while his back is turned. You push in front of Derek, getting between them to give him a chance to cool off. The last thing you want is to handle more wound dressings - for either one of them. 

Aaron hangs up and walks out after what you imagine is a rather unilluminating update from Penelope. You turn, putting your hand on Derek’s shoulder and looking him in the eye. 

Still think he’s alright? His eyes ask.

 You grit your teeth. I don’t know. 

+++

The psychiatrist and patient lay dead on the floor, Call nowhere in sight. Derek directs the local officers to check the perimeter, just in case. 

You look at Hotch, who still doesn’t look completely checked in, himself. 

Or maybe he looks too checked in?

I don’t know. 

You’d be lying if you said his behavior didn’t freak you out. Though he’s standing beside you, you miss him. 

Come back to me. 

You miss the man who pliantly sat under your hands as you washed his wounds and brought him takeout and forced him to take naps in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. 

You miss the man who fought you for the remote and stole far too many of your fries, who would change the channel if you made the mistake of going to the bathroom on a commercial break. 

That man was with you as late as Saturday. Returning has brought something else out in him, the part of him that spent (often very) late nights looking for Foyet has risen to the forefront. 

“We’re too late.” 

Before the rest of you can do anything, Aaron leaves the room, pushing past Dave in his haste to leave. 

Emily calls after him, but he’s long gone down the hallway. They look at you. 

All you can do is shake your head with a downturned curve of your mouth. 

+++

After a little while, you go downstairs and find Hotch outside. Before you can say anything - 

“I should have seen the blinking on the video.” 

You huff at him. “Hotch, it could have been a nervous tic. You couldn’t have known - none of the records were available, yet.” 

“But it wasn’t a tic. It’s a classic sign of long-term antipsychotic use, and I missed it.”

You step in front of him, squarely meeting his eyes. “We all missed it.” 

He’s got another pessimistic jab that you choose to ignore just before Emily and Dave arrive with news from Garcia. 

Oh, Aaron. 

+++

The officer huffs. “I don’t care why he took him.” 

Aaron had, once again, escalated the situation with local police. Tensions are high, and you only hope he can get his shit together at some point. “You should.” 

Goddamn it, Aaron. 

He continues, advancing on the police captain. “Call’s memory is no longer suppressed. He’s reinventing his past and unless we understand how, we’re not going to find either of them.”

“Well, I’m not gonna just sit around and speculate.” 

It’s an old-fashioned Western standoff, now. 

Who’s Clint Eastwood?

Well, Hotch has the looks but -

Quit. 

Fine. 

“Then don’t.”

The captain turns to you, Emily, and Dave. “You don’t think we should chase him either?”

“We need to get ahead of Call,” Dave answers evenly. 

The captain looks at Aaron once more before storming off. The rest of you approach Hotch, and Emily’s a little frustrated when she reminds him, “There’s a kid missing.” 

“They don’t need the extra manpower.” 

You squint at him. “Since when?”

“If we had studied Foyet’s initial crimes -”

Oh for the love of fuck. 

“- we would have known that a survivor didn’t make sense.”

“What does he have to do with this?”

Great question, Emily.

“All we had to do was stop and look at Foyet’s history. But we didn’t, and we lost two couples and a bus full of people. I am not making that mistake again.” He leaves the three of you stunned in his wake. After a moment, you follow him. 

You always do. 

+++

“Let’s go.” 

You’ve got the address to the unsub’s home and you take the car with Aaron, the rest of the team following behind you. 

He drives fast, but that’s nothing new. He throws the siren and floors it. You call SWAT yourself, getting Derek prepared for staging. 

When you get out of the car, you throw your vest on, helping Emily with the straps across her shoulders before she can reach them themselves. 

“Prentiss,” Aaron says, putting his earwig in. “Check in with the lieutenant, see if there’s anything we can use.” 

She nods. “Yes, sir.” 

“You good?” You ask, looking over at him. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” 

You throw your head to the side, and he takes your flank as you get closer to Emily. Her briefing with this particular lieutenant could go sideways, but you don’t want to leave him feeling trapped. 

“...The kid’s in there. We got this. Tactical teams are covering the exits. He’s still focused on the old man.”

Emily squints, adjusting her comm. “For now, but we’re gonna have to figure out the safest way to get that kid out.”

“I’ve got a team in the back and one on the way. We’re going to infiltrate.” 

“You do that and someone else dies.” The balance of firm and collaborative rests delicately on her tone. She’s doing well. 

“Either Call or a child murder. Flip a coin.” 

His tone frustrates you, but you leave Emily to her devices, checking your magazines for the third time. Your sidearm is in place, as is your backup. 

“It doesn’t have to end like that. We get a confession out of Jarvis and he goes away, and Call gets his answers. No one else has to die.” She pauses, and a streak of white flashes in your peripheral. “Hotch!” 

You whirl, ready to sprint after him as he walks decisively past the rest of you, past the gate, and into the house. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a break for it. A wall of arms stops you, and you know Derek’s behind you when you hear, “What the hell is he doing?”

No vest...Is he even carrying his gun? 

“Let him go.” 

You turn on Dave, your face plastered with fear and fury. “What do you mean let him go. Rossi -”

“I’m not letting him go in there solo.” Derek pushes against Dave again, but to your surprise, he’s locked in tight. 

“We have to trust him.” 

That cools Derek off, but not you. You thrash, freeing yourself from one of the local cops. “The hell we do.” 

“Kid - wait, no.” The roles reverse, and Derek catches up to you and locks you in his arms before you can breach the perimeter. Your elbows don’t land against his vest, but you sure try. “You’ll get him killed.” 

There’s only stress and silence as you stop struggling. All you can do is wait. 

Derek keeps his arm around you, but you almost feel like the contact is for both of you. You take deep breaths, trying to slow your heart rate. It’s through the roof. 

“What’s he doing?” Emily asks into her mic. 

Dave leans into his comm. “Stalling.” 

You can almost feel Derek’s jaw tightening. “He has nothing to lose.” 

He has everything to lose. 

You have everything to lose. 

Don’t be a hero, Aaron. Don’t do anything stupid. 

You hope that he can hear you somehow. 

Too late. 

Hotch appears in the window, followed by the boy. 

There’s a quick SWAT conversation in your ear. 

“Do you have the shot?”

“Negative, negative.”

He’s blocking the shot. 

Goddamn you, Aaron. Goddamn you. 

“Bringing the boy out,” a faceless voice on the radio says. The hostage runs down off the porch and you catch a glimpse of Aaron before he disappears behind the door again. 

You turn your head a touch, keeping your eyes on the door. “Get him out of there.” 

Dave shakes his head. “That’s his call.” 

Your body is wound tighter than a coil and you’re not sure if you’re ready to storm in there or just start walking home. 

There’s a gunshot, and you’re out of there like a bat out of hell. You launch yourself over the short fence and attach yourself to the first SWAT agent you see, remembering your training at the last moment. 

You breach the house and find Aaron cuffing Darin, whose father is dead in the armchair in front of him. Your jaw has never been tighter. 

Once you confirm that he is in fact still alive and still only has nine holes in him, you turn on your heel and you storm out of the house. You don��t stop until you’re leaning on the front of one of the cars, trying to catch your breath. Your hands shake and you don’t trust your knees to hold you up. 

The relief wars with something hot and unpleasant, leaving you more exhausted than you’ve been in weeks. 

You keep your head turned away from Aaron as he approaches you. It’s petty, but you also don’t want him to see the fear on your face. 

He calls you with a sigh in his voice and it finally ignites the fear into anger. 

“I can’t fucking believe you,” you spit. Your voice isn’t loud, but it certainly carries. JJ’s eyes flicker to you from the other side of the yard. “What kind of stunt are you trying to pull? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” 

His jaw tightens. “Let’s not do this here.” 

Your brow draws across your eyes and your mouth opens, indignant. “Let’s not do this here? You’re fucking kidding me.”

In his current state, nothing is off the table. His temper is running short and you know you’re capable of pushing him until he breaks. It hasn’t happened yet, but today might be it.  

Much to your surprise, a sigh leaves him, and he knows he’s stepped in it. “It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You scoff, shaking your head. 

His remorse only stokes your anger. Go figure. 

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry. You could have died, Hotch. What you did was so beyond protocol I don’t even know if I should start with the necessity of your life because we need you as our unit chief or the importance of your safety as my friend -” You cut yourself off and look away from him, frustrated you even got that far. 

He has nothing to say to that. You’re completely right. The guilt might as well be written across his face in Sharpie. 

His absence fucked with you, to say the least. It felt awful, empty, in the field without him. And then when you were home - well, back at the apartment, he was only ever in pain. 

Overall, your anxiety regarding his health and safety is riding high. 

Much to your frustration, your eyes water, and your lower lip shakes - angry tears an ever-present threat. Your arms cross over your chest. “I can’t even look at you right now.” 

He reaches out for your arm, but you throw him off before he can make contact, turning your head. You stare at the ground, watching him flounder out of the corner of your eye. 

“Go. Go do your fucking job, Hotch.” His nickname is acid in your mouth. It feels like a punishment, a lash of a whip. He doesn’t move, and you turn on him, meeting his guilty brown eyes with your flinty ones. “Go. Make the arrest. They’re waiting on you.” You throw your chin to Derek and Emily, who are indeed waiting for him on the porch with the unsub. 

With another heavy sigh, he turns and rejoins the rest of your team. 

You stay where you are, directing coroner and local law enforcement personnel to relevant staging areas as the crime scene is processed and handled. Aaron’s eyes try to find yours, but you avoid them, focusing on someone, anyone else with crisp professionalism that hardly belies your fear. 

You’ve never been so angry in your life. Even if you have, you can’t remember it feeling this wretched.

+++

He sits beside you on the plane once you’re up in the air and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. The rest of the team sleeps scattered around the cabin, but you suspect that at least one of them is faking it, waiting for some kind of spectacle or spectacular blowup between the two of you. 

You haven’t spoken to Aaron since leaving the crime scene. You drove back to the precinct with Emily and Dave, staying close to JJ and Spencer while you packed your things. There’s a part of you that feels bad for creating what Strauss would call a “hostile work environment,” but the other part can’t bring itself to care. 

You can’t even begin to articulate the fear that coursed through you as you waited for him outside that house. You couldn’t begin to explain the extent of your fear, but after the stabbing and the removal of Haley and Jack from your lives, the prospect of losing him in the field was beyond unbearable. 

It’s frustrating to feel so comforted by his proximity while you’re still so angry with him. The familiarity of it all hardly blunts your anger. If anything, the relief at having him back at your side sharpens your anger into something that scares you. 

The impossibility of it is beyond measure. You’ve known for some time now, but this is the first you’re willing to admit it. 

I love him. 

Fuck.

You love him. You love his son. You love his wife. 

You love the weird look he gets on his face when he has to say “penetration” while he’s delivering a profile. You love the way he tries not to smile when Emily beats Spencer at chess. You love the way he twiddles with pens when he’s thinking or nervous or both. You love that each of his smiles feel like a gift just for you. 

There’s nothing you don’t love about him. 

Except, of course, the way he, with profound idiocy, endangered his life today for no particular reason in addition to his generally asshole-ish behavior. 

“I would say I’m sorry, but I’m sure you know that.” 

You do.

He waits on you, quiet and still. 

You take a deep breath, finally looking at him. “You scared the hell out of me.” 

He nods, his jaw flexing. 

“Don’t do it again.” 

He blinks once, slowly. You know he can’t promise that, but you appreciate his acknowledgment nevertheless. There’s quiet for a moment. 

“Aaron…” You look at him, nothing but concern in your tone. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“I was just going to say…” You swallow, trying to find better words but coming up short. “We’ll get him.”

+++

Derek’s voice echoes down to the bullpen as you finish up the last few pieces of your paperwork. “I will not stand by and watch this man kill himself.” 

Aaron’s door is closed as he works. You’re not sure if you’re thankful for that, or if you’d rather he hear it. You can’t really hear Dave - not that you’d want to, you’re almost as pissed at him as you are at Aaron - but it doesn’t matter. You know what he has to say. 

Derek’s voice drops lower than you can hear. Dave drops his head. 

Moments later, Derek flies back down the stairs, grabs his jacket, and takes his leave with a cursory goodbye thrown in your direction. Dave returns to his desk and Aaron’s door finally opens. 

You look up as his lights turn off, gathering your things at your desk. With a little sigh that looks a bit like defeat, he stops at your desk. The smugness doesn’t completely leave your tone. “Need a ride?”

Of course, he does. “Please.” 

You rise and walk to the elevators together. In the silence, you tell him, “I’m still really mad at you.” 

A sigh. “I know.” 

+++

You walk him upstairs and take care of the alarm while he removes his suit jacket and throws it over the couch. 

“Do you think Call’s gonna be okay?” You ask, still facing the alarm. 

“I don’t know.”

“He got his answers,” you note, turning to him. “He killed the man who haunted him.” 

His eyes are fixed on a spot on the carpet. “And what else is there?”

“Years of torture.” You both know you’re not talking about Call anymore, but it’s nice to pretend. It gives you the opportunity to say things you wouldn’t - shouldn’t - say to him. “Fear. Grief.”

“Think he’ll get over that?” 

“How could he?” A humorless smile pulls at one corner of your mouth. “But at least he doesn't feel like he’s alone.”

He finally meets your eyes. “He doesn’t have anyone.” I don’t have anyone, his brow says. 

“He has Tommy. He’s not alone.” 

You have me. You’re not alone. 

His brows pull low over his eyes, and you take another opportunity as it comes. “Do you want me to stay again tonight?”

“No, I’m alright.” He takes a little breath and you round the corner, pouring him a couple fingers of whiskey before making a slow, purposeful trek across the room. “Thank you,” he says, taking it. 

“Of course. Anytime.” Now, you both know you aren’t talking about the drink. 

Nevertheless, you pat your pockets for your keys, phone, and various federal paraphernalia, finding them all where they belong. “I should head out, then. Call if you need anything.” 

He nods, watching you with quiet eyes as you close and lock the door behind you. 

+++

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[purple-stuck]

I recently saw the idea of sub-juggulator John and I was captivated! What would your take on that be?

Egbert's Confections. A small cake shop and restaurant that had popped up out of nowhere. There was no indication it existed until a few nights ago, yet it proved to be inexplicably popular. As far as anyone could tell, Jaunee Egbert had pulled his shop out of the ground and cornered the local market overnight.

As far as the local rebel cell was concerned, the fact that he was a purple blood was no coincidence. This town had been chosen as a base of operations precisely because it was such a lowblooded neighborhood. The sudden appearance of not only a purple blood, but a strangely successful and beloved one, was nothing short of glowing neon danger sign. The threat he posed couldn't stand.

That's how Xannic Erveni found himself standing outside Egbert's Confections with his moirail by his side.

Xannic took a deep steadying breath and looked over at the large olive blood by his side. His own worried expression was mirrored in their face before he steeled his gaze. "So, you remember our story, Norwik?"

The olive nodded and began listing off on their hand. "We're just friendly customers looking to get to know the local confectionecutioner. We're both lowbloods, so we try to keep our heads down, which is why we don't know anything about any rebels. And, of course, don't eat anything. Even if it's at a discount."

Xannic nodded and pushed the doors open. He still had to duck to fit inside. Even if the rusty was the shorter of the two, his refusal to trim his horns meant he often had to duck at doorways. Xannic knew it made him stand out, but it was a source of pride for him. Another foot was another sweep survived. Still, he did try to keep from looking too serious as he glanced around the restaurant.

That's when the pair noticed their first red flag. The customers around them weren't just enjoying their food, they were loving it. At least one third of the noise seemed to come from people belching and guts growling. He saw rustbloods eating from cakes that were taller than themselves and jade bloods stuffing themselves like they hadn't eaten in weeks. Trolls as high as teal were collapsing on the floor, still trying to eat even as they were on the verge of either popping or puking. Norwik leaned into his ear. "This is going to sound weird, but this is to much. Even for my appetite."

"You said it."

Xannic stiffened as a tall shadow fell over the pair. Norwik had to keep themselves from draping over Xannic protectively. The two craned their necks up to come face to face with the owner. Egbert himself.

Even with his reputation, Egbert did not at all carry himself as they expected. He smiled down at them in a way that was both mischievous and friendly, a rare combination indeed. His buck teeth were noticably filed down and his face paint was plain. Even his horns were small, flat, and dull. By purple blood standards, he looked like a scrawny, puny runt. Only towering over them because of his age. If Egbert wasn't skipping Ascension, he was on the verge of it. Even his eyes had begun filling in.

"Well, hi, guys!" Egbert said, giving them a mock courtesy. "You look new here. New customers or just stopping by?"

Xannic almost found himself taken in by the act until his gaze driften over to the moaning, groaning, barely conscious troll in the booth next to him. A clear reminder that they couldn't get comfortable here, regardless of pretences. By the way Norwik gripped his shoulder, he could tell they were thinking the same thing. "We're just passing through. We're new in town." Xannic couldn't keep his gaze from drifting. "We... uh, didn't realize this place was so high class."

Egbert clearly followed his gaze. "Yeah, I know. Ask my lusus, it's his recipe. I didn't realize it was ao addictive until I started selling it. I guess eating cake every night desensitized me." He shrugged apologetically. "Word of advice, call a friend to carry you to your hive the first view visits. I don't want to have to drag you out of here."

Norwik's grip tightened around his shoulder unconsciously. "We're just here to take a look around. We won't be having anything." They said.

Egbert grinned, showing off the rest of his strangely flat, filed down teeth. "Well then, stick around awhile. Take a seat and relax. We're all brothers here."

Xannic knew there was something off about this. He could feel it. He could tell that at least some of Egbert's politeness was genuine. He was far to relaxed, far to wide eyed and happy, to be faking completely. Xannic had met enough blood hungry highbloods to recognize one when he saw them, but, at the same time, Jaunee wasn't being entirely genuine either. His kindness was exaggerated, but it wasn't to the point of being obviously fake. It made him difficult to read. He could be lying maliciously... but he could also just be overcompensating for his status. Xannic had met plenty of both.

Regardless, Xannic took a seat at an empty booth, Norwik still protectively curled around his shoulder. If Xannic was letting his guard down, Norwik kept their guard up, and vice versa. A learned behavior that had saved their skin many times before.

Egbert sat down across from them, casually leaning back in contrast to his high strung guests. "So, why'd you two move here?" He asked. "Personally, I just got sick of my old customers. My old church mates always left such a mess behind and the violet bloods were such sour sports about my pranks. It's not my fault they don't check their seats."

Something about that casual little gesture made Xannic's remaining doubts drift away. Jaunee was a highblood. A purpleblood who towered over the both of them by several inches. A highblood who'd already made himself popular and powerful in this small, paranoid little town. A clown who could kill them without effort and continue running his shop without a care. But, somehow, Xannic felt safe. The strange undercurrent of danger that surrounded most clowns just wasn't there with Jaunee. He didn't seem like a predator waiting to pounce. He didn't act like he was just waiting for the excuse to cut them up. When Xennic saw Jaunee drap himself over the back of the seat, he didn't see the murderous monster he saw in most purple bloods. He just saw a smiling, buck toothed troll.

"We actually lived in a similar town. We were live servants for a violet blood." Xennic felt Norwik freeze at the honest answer, but he wasn't deterred. Xennic trusted Jaunee. Enough to be harmlessly honest with him. "We moved here for... obvious reasons. We just wanted get away from that asshole."

Jaunee laughed. "Yeah. Violets are dicks."

It didn't take long for Norwik to join the conversation after that. If Egbert was able to so thoroughly, so perfectly penetrate Xennic's guard, then he could do the same to Norwik. There was a reason for their system. There was a reason one of them was always on guard. There was a reason they were both so protective. But, as the conversation began in earnest, that reason, whatever it was, was forgotten. They talked blithely for hours about quadrants and meeting moirails. About how Xannic had confessed to Norwik and how Jaunee thought that Strider was totally hitting on him. So pleasant was the atmosphere that even the moans of torturously stuffed trolls couldn't pierce it.

Soon, Egbert was showing the two to the door with a cheerful smile on his face. His buck toothed grin as friendly and as mischievous as always. "Honestly, it was great meeting you two. You'll have to actually order something sometime."

Xennic laughed and pushed the doors open, just about to duck out when Egbert's hand gripped his shoulder. "I'm serious." Jaunee said, a slice of cake in his hand.

"How about I give you a free sample? Something to take back with you."

~

It had been seven nights since Norwik had accepted that slice of cake and the olive blood hadn't left their hive since. The lay on the floor, leaning against the fridge as they held their gurgling, groaning gut. Broken plates and stripped down bones littered the floor of their hive, highlighting just how empty their fridge was as it's doors hung open.

Hungry. They were so, so hungry.

Xannic rushed in carrying another bag of food, throwing it to the side to first check on his moirail. Xannic put his palm to their head, hoping to comfort them, check for a pulse, something, anything. But, Norwik just pushed their hand asidr, desperately pointing to the discarded bag.

"Please...." They rasped out. "I.... I need it. I need.... food."

Xannic pulled out a single slice of grub loaf. "This was all they had le-" He started, before getting cut off as Norwik ripped it from their grasp. The olive blood dug into their meal with big, heavy bites, all but shoveling the loaf down their throat. Xannic swore it disappeared in three seconds.

"I need... more..." Norwik moaned, begged really, as their overstuffed gut roared. "I need... food..."

"There is no more. All the shops are out of stock." Norwik curled up into a fetal position. All Xannic could do was stare in concern and horror. "Gog, what did that cake do to you?"

Hungry. They were so, so hungry.

"We need to get you back to base. Get you looked at. Whatever was in that slice, it's fucking you up, big time. At this rate, you're going to eat yourself to death."

Xannic was still talking, but Norwik couldn't hear them any more. Their stomach was grumbling far to loudly for that. Why were they so hungry? Why wouldn't it end? It hurt. It hurt so much. They were staving.

They needed food.

They needed... meat.

"We're going to get you help, okay buddy?" Xannic rolled them over, letting Norwik rest their hand on his shoulder.

"...Buddy?"

Whatever Xannic was saying, Norwik couldn't hear him. They were to busy feeding. Making the pain end.

Xannic's screams couldn't be heard over the grumbling of Norwik's gut, nor over the crunching of bones between their teeth.

~

Jaunee Egbert cheerfully hummed to himself, pulling out his phone to take another picture as he spotted another pile of bare picked bones.

Yes, he'd say this little excursion had gone really well. He was tasked with taking out the rebel cell that was in the area and that had been accomplished. The town can't have a cell if there is no town after all. If he had any complaints, it was that he was sick of only pranking lowbloods. Even if it was his Messiah given duty.

That's all this was. A prank. A joke. A harmless teasing between friends. The fact that the recipients all died didn't change that. Lowbloods die. That was just a fact of life.

Jaunee pulled out his contacts. He sent Strider the pictures he'd taken. He loved to use them for propaganda. "Look what happens when lowbloods aren't kept in check." That sort of thing. Jaunee was glad his friend found his own little way to support the Messiah's cause.

After seeing the thumbs up emoji from Strider, Jaunee took one last look around at the crumbling corpse of the town. No survivors. Not a building left standing. A masterful prank indeed.

Jaunee took his leave to plot his next prank, likely never thinking of this one again.

[keatsblue]

Snippet from Ch. 29 of Foresight is Better Than Hindsight, But Insight is Better Than Either One -- my shoddy attempt at writing Dabihawks. Because apparently I don’t decide when it’s the last chapter, Shigaraki does.

Thank you for reading!

***

“—Dabs! Wait the fuck up, will ya?”

Shigaraki was really, really not built for running. Why did no one understand this?

In front of him and already several paces ahead, Dabi let out a low growl that came out more like a wheeze. Burnt nugget fucker wasn’t made for cardio, either. “Dunno why you’re complaining so much when you’re the one who suggested this in the first place, asshole! And do you see that fucking smoke?”

Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed.

Yes, he could see it—how could he not when it ballooned over their heads by waves and gusts? It was immediately obvious that Hawks had already engaged Endeavor in battle, that it would have taken a certain amount of firepower to produce that much exhaust.

Shigaraki could think of two scenarios in which so much smoke could be produced—and he didn’t particularly like the implications of either. He brought the edge of his collar up over his nose, felt the unforgiving surface of cracked pavement under the soles of his feet as he and Dabi ran toward the epicenter of all the little signs of destruction around them.

Blown-out glass. Torn up store signs and smashed displays.

It seemed the top two heroes had fought all the way up the mall strip.

For Dabi’s sake, Shigaraki hoped Hawks would be alright once they arrived. Cocky bird would have his head tilted just so, would shoot them that signature grin that had both captured and broken so many hearts.

Triumphant, like any other hero.

Shigaraki could handle that. He could handle Hawks’ smugness, could curb his instinctive urge to wrap his hands around the bird’s neck and squeeze so long as the bastard wasn’t hurt too badly. Dabi needed his Keigo alive, after all.

And yet, he couldn’t help the sinking feeling that filled his chest at the sight of the first of many red feathers.

It was innocuous on its own, sitting bare and lonely in the middle of the cracked walkway. Shigaraki saw Dabi stop short ahead of him before he was even close enough to notice it for himself. The other villain stood stock-still, frozen for long enough that Shigaraki actually caught up to draw even to his friend’s side.

The edges of the feather were dark and ashen. Singed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shigaraki noticed Dabi’s knuckles turn white, hands fisted at his sides. He couldn’t see his friend’s eyes from his angle, though the tightness in the tone of Dabi’s voice spoke for itself. “Let’s keep moving.”

Together, they took off at full speed once more. Shigaraki didn’t complain about it, this time.

Instead, he tried to ignore the churning discomfort in his own gut as the further they ran, the more destroyed feathers they encountered. They were warped and lifeless little things, littering the ground below their feet like tiny corpses.

Shigaraki had never been one to delude himself; Dabi neither, he was certain. They’d both been through too much messed up shit to deny the signs all around them.

If… when they found Hawks…

Well.

They passed another destroyed clump of feathers, and Shigaraki quickened his pace.

Questions raced through his mind all the same. Why had Hawks taken on Endeavor alone? Where was that useless old geezer, if Eraserhead had arrived at all? How could Hawks—sharp, calculating, deadly Hawks—possibly lose?

Up ahead, if Shigaraki strained his ears, he could just begin to make out voices. The sound itself was like a low rumbling, the differing tones practically indistinguishable from one another and yet unerringly connected. It was eerie to hear from a distance—how each voice cried out in unison, ticking up in pitch, then back down. Ooh, aahh.

An image immediately came to mind—two gladiators, fighting to the death upon an enclosed arena’s hot sands. The crowd all around them, jeering, reacting to the blood sport with neither empathy nor thought.

Shigaraki knew the sound of a mob when he heard it. He called out to the villain ahead of him. “Dabs! There’s a fuck ton of people up the street!” They’ll see us, out us, hurt us.

Dabi, the absolute idiot, just kept running. And Shigaraki was still committed to trying his hand at this ‘good friend’ thing, god-fucking-damn it.

READ MORE HERE

[malikmata]

Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like  “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

[thesurielships]

the perp II

note: I am practically making up laws in this. I have no idea how police and justice work in the US, nor in my country tbh, so please hold your disbelief. This is inspired by Brooklyn 99. If you haven’t watched it, you should.

note 2: I’m trying to write as much as possible, and to stop obsessing over the small details and just let the story flow. Which means that this will probably have a lot of imperfections, but a part 3 will be coming soon :))

Word count: 1.6k

Part 1 | Masterlist

An insistent knock startled Feyre out of her creative trance. She looked up to her boss’s usual stoic face.

“Captain Azriel,” she nodded in acknowledgement, trying to calm her panic down. He had only knocked once on her desk and folded his arms behind his back. That was never a good sign.

“My office. Now.”

Feyre blinked at his retreating figure. He hadn’t returned her acknowledgement. That was a terrible sign. She quickly followed him to his office as there was nothing he hated more than tardiness.

“Yes, Captain?”

He was already in his seat, hands steepled on his desk. “Close the door, detective.”

She did, noticing the keen gaze Lucien kept directed their way. She smiled and closed the blinds, too.

“Take a seat.”

She did, and then looked at the captain expectantly.

“Did you threaten a fellow officer with a gun?”

Feyre’s blood froze. “Captain, I - ”

“I have just received an official complaint from Detective Rosetool stating that you twisted his arm behind his back, pressed him against a wall and put a gun to his head.”

“It wasn’t to his head,” Feyre couldn’t help arguing. “It was to his spine.”

The captain leaned back in his seat, his expression unchanging.

“I didn’t want to kill him, only paralyse him.” Even she knew she sounded bratty.

“So you would have willingly maimed a fellow officer?”

“I didn’t actually do it, now did I? Besides, if we’re at the stage of filing official complaints, I might as well present one myself. Detective Rosetool is a sexist asshole who thinks that our past relationship gives him the right to get involved in my cases, to ask about my comings and goings, to follow me home and threaten other male fellow officers who dare speak to me. He has abused me multiple times prior to our break up, and I have several scars and medical reports to prove it.”

Feyre was breathing hard. She had stood up at some point during her tirade, and was ready to submit her resignation and storm off this Cauldron damned precinct if she had to. Why she hadn’t reported Tamlin before, or left all of it behind, she didn’t know. Her throat was starting to close up, tears pricking her eyes. But she would not break down in front of her superior officer. She. Would. Not.

“Alright.”

Feyre blinked. “Alright?”

The captain’s gaze was steady, either oblivious to the storm of emotions coursing through her or wisely choosing not to comment on it. “I will submit your formal complaint.”

“What about Tamlin’s?”

“As it is not entirely truthful, I have the right to refuse to forward it.”

Feyre could not believe her ears. “Why are you doing this?”

“Yours is not the first complaint I have received about detective Rosetool. Many others have spoken up about his inappropriate behavior before, and his record is not as clean as he would like it to be.”

“Sir,” her voice was shaky with unshed tears. “You do realize that his dad is the former NYPD commissioner, right? This could get you in trouble.”

Captain Azriel’s smile was small and full of menace as he said, “Do not worry about it, detective Archeron. I have my ways.”

***

The day after her intriguing conversation with the hairdressers at Dora’s, and her sob fest following her talk with Captain Azriel, Feyre went around the shops in that neighborhood looking for eye witnesses. She did not use her sketch, however, as that would have been a little unprofessional. And embarrassing, she thought as she remembered the powerful body, the sexy smirk and the violet eyes she had drawn the previous night in the privacy of her own apartment. Then her thoughts drifted to the dream she’d had of being pressed against a tattooed chest and cocooned in huge membranous wings.

And touched in places she hadn’t been touched in a while.

“… gone home by then. Detective?”

She nodded absently. If she hadn’t been so focused on hiding her flushed face behind her hair as she pretended to write something down in her notebook, she would have noticed the nervousness radiating off the owner of the sea food restaurant. He kept wringing his hands, his forehead shone with sweat and his feet were shifting constantly.

“Detective, actually…”

Feyre’s head snapped up at the careful tone. “Yes?”

“There is one more bit of information that might help you, but I don’t know if I can…” he trailed off with a wince.

“No one will know you told me, Mr. Varian.”

He swallowed audibly, then seemed to steel himself. “It’s about Dora, the owner of the salon.”

She nodded.

He hesitated, glancing at the salon behind her. Feyre tried her best to look reassuring.

“Her boyfriend is in the mafia.”

She held her breath. “Do you know which one?”

He cleared his throat. Once. Twice. “Actually… he’s the head of Hybern.”

Feyre felt like she went fishing for eels and caught a shark instead. “Are you certain?”

“I see him leaving her salon at 11:15 every night.”

She wanted to whoop and jump around in joy. David Hybern was just the kind of big fish she needed to catch to get her a promotion, hopefully away from the flower tool. “Thank you, Mr. Varian. You’re doing this city a great favor.”

And me, she thought, giggling internally, before mentally scolding herself for her selfishness.

“Just get him off these streets,” the chef answered wearily. “He strikes terror in everyone’s hearts. My kids can’t even sleep these days.”

“Rest assured, Mr. Varian. We will try our best to put this criminal behind bars.”

***

“So I heard our perp is quite the hunk.”

Feyre snorted. “They said he had violet eyes and blue hair.”

“Maybe he’s not human. Maybe he’s a vampire,” her partner, Suriel, speculated. “Or a faerie. My chaman told me those are on quite the rampage lately.”

Feyre rolled her eyes.

“What? A thief who doesn’t steal anything, who is so hot he charmed the pants off his victims, and who disappears into the night. Doesn’t this sound fantastical to you?”

“One, maybe he was just there to gather intel, and he’s planning his heist for later. Two, there is such a thing as Stockholm’s syndrome. And three, at least half of our perps disappear into the night.”

“Why would someone plan a heist on a hairdressing salon?” Suriel’s tone was dismissive. “It’s not even that fancy.”

Feyre kept silent, her eyes fixed on said salon.

“You know something, don’t you? There is more to this case that you’re not telling me.”

“Well, maybe you should’ve been there, Suriel. Next time, don’t leave me to interrogate moonstruck women alone.”

“It was a bad day for Pisces! I couldn’t get out of the house.”

“There is no such thing as astrologically impaired days, Suriel.”

Suriel glowered. She hated when her partner dismissed her beliefs, and Feyre let her rant about astrology more often than not; but when it got in the way of their job, she drew the line.

“So, why are we on watch duty?”

Feyre’s eyes roamed the street, lingering on the dark corners and on the roofs surrounding Dora’s. “I told you he might be planning a heist.”

“Cut the crap.”

“Dora is dating David Hybern.”

Suriel gasped.

“He supposedly leaves the salon every night at 11:15pm.”

Detective Pisces, as she liked to call herself, was now bouncing in her seat. “So we’re here for Hybern, not the faerie hunk?”

“I don’t know. The robbery is weird. Maybe it’s linked to Hybern. Maybe our perp is in a rival gang and wanted to use Hybern’s girlfriend as leverage.”

“But he didn’t do anything to Dora. You said he even apologised.”

“Maybe he was looking for drugs? I mean Hybern is one of the biggest Fairy Wine suppliers in Velaris.” She ignored Suriel’s meaningful glance at the drug she mentioned.

“But why would he look for it in Dora’s purse?”

Feyre was spared from admitting her lack of ideas as she saw a silhouette pass near the window.

“Did you see that?” Suriel asked.

They were out the car and halfway to the salon before Feyre could answer. When they were five meters away from the front door, the lights were turned on. Feyre could just make out three silhouettes in Dora’s office. Suriel gestured for her to go in first, signaling that she’d come in through the back door, as was their usual modus operandi. Feyre nodded, grabbed her gun, and hurried in the salon. The main room was dark, but she could see enough to tell that nothing was amiss. The office was quiet. Feyre stuck to the wall, carefully nudging the door open with her foot.

“Who’s there?” asked a gruff male voice.

She held her breath.

“Do come in, officer. We were awaiting your arrival.” This time, the voice was deep and husky and caused a shiver to run down Feyre’s spine.

She braced herself, then burst into the room, gun cocked in her hands. She shifted it between the three people.

“NYPD, freeze!”

“If your strategy was to scare us into a heartattack, detective, it only worked on me,” Dora stated dryly from where she was held at gunpoint by none other than David Hybern himself. Feyre fixed her gun in his direction.

“Pointing your gun at the first person you see. Not a smart tactic, detective,” mused the husky voice from her right.

She slowly turned her head, almost dropping the gun she kept pointed at Hybern as her eyes beheld the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He was tall and tanned like he just got back from a vacation in Malibu. His muscled, shirtless chest bore an intricate tattoo. She hated to admit it, but his black hair did gleam blue. And the eyes that were studying her as meticulously as she had him were indeed violet.

There was only one small detail that ruined the wonderful portrait.

The faerie hunk had a gun pointed at her head.

 Tag list:  @joyceortiz13 @bailey-4244 @quakeriders @standbislytherin @mariamuses @ignite14 @1800-fight-me @velarian-trash @rhysands-highlady @queenblueoffire @rowaelinforeverworld @feeoly @buckybvrnes @dayanna-hatter @shadowstar2313 @goldfishh20 @sleeping-and-books @crackedship @your-high-lady @thesirenwashere

[adventuresloane]

“I know it hurts, I’m sorry.” with hurloane, perhaps : o?

((Hey what's up I wrote this on a nine-hour flight and it ended up being almost 3k words lmaooooo. Sorry again for the wait!))

Hurley turned the corner into the alley and saw the blood black and bright as motor oil in the nighttime. She had been expecting and dreading it.

"Shit, Sloane." She didn't remember until a moment later about using real names out in public, nor did she particularly care at the moment. She ran forward to where Sloane sat slumped against the wall and slid to a stop on her bare knees.

Underneath the black, beaked helmet, her breathing came out ragged. She brushed away Hurley's hand when she carefully tried to lift the bird mask away. "Alright, Curls, I'd say you're the healer of our team, right?" Her hand rested on her belly, over the spot where the thin wooden shaft stuck out of her. "Do I leave this in me or pull it out now?"

"Sloane, you need a fucking hospital," she hissed. "I'm taking you."

"Oh, and you're going to check me in there, Lieutenant? That'll look good."

"I'll just drop you off and go if that's what you want! I'll be anonymous."

"No. They could still figure out who I am there, even without the mask." She pushed herself up slowly against the brick wall with one hand. "Besides, I'm not even that bad."

"Sloane..."

"I'm not! Just..." Behind the helmet's dark visor, it was difficult to see whether she was making eye contact. But she turned her head fully toward Hurley for the first time all night. "Just help me out a little now, alright? Then I'll take care of myself afterward, I promise."

She tried to give Sloane a glare that she couldn't sustain for long. She wouldn't be able to see her disapproval in the dark anyway. Hurley finally relented and let out her held breath, though it left her feeling no more relieved. Drops still fell from Sloane's stomach now and again. "If you're going to run, you should take the bolt out. You might bleed more, but it's better than risking more internal damage while you're moving around," she murmured. Then she paused and placed a hand over Sloane's, where it rested over her gut. "Would you...would you rather do it yourself or should I..."

"Could you?"

For a long time, Hurley took in the cold air. Still holding her breath, she wrapped her hand firmly around the shaft of the bolt. She kissed the only exposed part of Sloane's skin that she could reach, where her neck met her collarbone, and then pressed her forehead gently against her chest there, mingling their cooled sweat. Then she removed the serrated arrowhead the only way that one could when one was without anesthetic, surgical tools, and time.

The gasp that came out of Sloane would have been a scream if she'd had just slightly less self-control. "Sorry, sorry, shh..." At once, Hurley tore the fabric from the bottom of her gi--first-aid kit wasn't as easy to reach--and started to press it against the wound. She imbued it with what healing magic she could, but a few seconds of contact would never be enough. It took time to restore flesh. Sloane shook against her but still stood. She shouldn't have had to. Absurdly, she wanted Sloane collapsing into her, wanted to take on all her weight, though it would never have been possible now. "I know it hurts. I'm sorry. I'm..." She swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry..."

"No, it's fine," she croaked. "I asked you to do it."

"Well, you didn't ask for this! I'll kick their asses for you, alright? They're not getting away with this."

Sloane simply took the fabric from her hands and pressed it to her own stomach as she began to move away. "We'll talk later, okay? I'll get--shit." Hurley heard it, too, a second later. The click of crossbows being cocked and footsteps rushing down the street. Without another word, she took off running around the bend.

That left Hurley to turn around and face her troop of fellow officers as they rounded the corner--bows drawn, and by the gods, she was going to report every one of them later for aiming a weapon without a target in sight.

"Hold your fire!" she blurted. Only when they all stopped and stared at her blankly did she realize that she ought to justify that. "Ah...these are apartments along this alley. All of them, I think. I'm not going to have stray bolts going into folks' homes while they sleep!"

It wasn't a good lie. She would've known that even if she hadn't seen the confused glances they gave each other. There was a reason she normally left the lying and the acting to Sloane. But anyway, her officers were meant to listen to her whether they believed her or not. "The Raven's still running. Took off down Hoopoe Street in the direction of Town Hall. You both, head west and see if you can cut her off!" And like that, she sent them off in different directions, none of them the way in which Sloane had gone. Later, they'd talk around the water cooler at the office about how the thief had slipped off again, how they'd practically had her in the bag before she'd just vanished like shadow passing into darkness.

Hurley followed them, but before she did, she looked back to where she had last seen Sloane run, really.

It was difficult, when she got back to the office in the wee hours of the morning, to convince her superiors that she was simultaneously too hurt to perform the rest of her shift and not hurt enough to be immediately sent to an ER. The signs of a scuffle with the Raven helped, though--she hadn't even thought to point out her torn clothes until someone mentioned it. In any case, after filing the most perfunctory of reports, she sped on foot through the city to the safehouse that Sloane had set up for herself. It wasn't soon enough that she finally got to the door and rapped out the special, encoded knock signaling that it was her.

There was silence from the other side for so long that she started to wonder whether Sloane had gone elsewhere, or whether she had made it anywhere. Already, Hurley had wasted so much time trying to get the militia off her back without them suspecting how urgent it was. She might not have been quick enough.

She was just preparing to knock again when she heard shuffling from deep inside. It must have gone on for a couple of minutes before the door finally creaked open. Through the crack slipped a hand clutching the shining, gold-painted horn of her familiar ram mask.

She blinked at it. "Why--"

"Just put it on!" Sloane's voice hissed from inside.

Hurley obliged and stepped through to see Sloane still in the helmet that enclosed her whole head. Without a word, and without allowing for a chance to ask how she was feeling, she turned and walked away. Sloane was a good actress, Hurley reminded herself. She was pretending not to care. That didn't mean she might not have also been angry about being shot by people under Hurley's command.

"You know, Raven, I think I recall you being the one who wanted to keep this on the down-low." The call came from the living room of the abandoned apartment, slathered in mock-sympathy. "Just between us and all that. Wouldn't want word getting back to the other racers that you weren't in top shape."

"Yeah, well, you're shit out of luck, because it's no one you can gossip with here. It's just my partner."

That word again. It was the only one she had ever heard Sloane use to refer to her, to what they were to each other. "Racing partner" is what she meant, of course. Hurley wasn't sure if she intended for the plausible deniability about what sort of "partners" they were aside from that. But no other word like "girlfriend" or "lover" had been used by either of them, at least not out loud. The question had been, after maybe the third instance of supposedly "no-strings-attached" sex, Hey, so is this a thing now? and the answer had been, Looks like it. It had seemed simple and natural. They hadn't been anymore specific than calling it a "thing" at the time.

Though it wasn't like they talked about their relationship with anyone but each other regardless.

"Oh, I know who it is." Hurley pushed past the old woven rug that hung in the doorway to come face-to-face with someone who looked as though every part of them had been stretched out. They were human, tall and narrow as the gap between jail bars, with long arms full of measly muscles and straight hair down to their knees. There was smile on their face and a shine in their eye. "Well, hello, Ram! You clean up alright. I'm used to seeing you covered in dirt." They said this as Sloane sat down in front of them and they laid hands back on her belly, where the wound had begun to close up.

Hurley took one look at Crane and then glanced back Sloane's way. "Raven, seriously?"

"What? They know what they're doing!"

"Why, thank you! I absolutely do know what I'm doing," said the person who, despite not having won a race in months, could easily clinch the award for Shadiest Cleric on the Racetrack, and Most Likely All of Goldcliff. (Honestly, maybe they were lying and were actually some bizarre kind of warlock.)

"They're going to bleed you dry at best and might make it even worse if it suits them. You know that, right?"

"On the contrary, I think you'll find that I'm doing a fine job stopping her bleeding, no thanks to you."

"Hey, I didn't ask you to come and watch," Sloane said with a half-shrug, as though entirely unbothered one way or the other.

She was a good actress. But that, quite frankly, was a little much. Hurley chewed on the tip of her tongue until it just barely began to hurt. It was bad enough, she thought, that she wasn't the one doing the healing right now, that someone else was laying their hands on her. She could, just barely, watch strands of this asshole's foreign magic slither like worms into Sloane. But to imply that she'd ever choose not to be by Sloane's side was adding too much insult to injury.

On the other hand, it wasn't like this was anything new. Given how many racers engaged in worse illegal activity on the side, rivals were always loathe to show their faces to one another, let alone share personal details that could be used against them. For her and Sloane, that had always meant keeping their closeness under wraps in front of everybody. In front of criminals and law-abiding citizens alike.

Finally, Crane stepped away and let Sloane run her hand over the spot that had just healed. "See, now, you're good as new! Be back to eating shit on that racetrack in no time. That'll be 700 gold, my dear."

"That's a funny way of saying 300 gold," Sloane quipped back.

Seeing where this was going and not especially keen on a five-minute-minimum bargaining session over how much Sloane's actual life was worth, Hurley stepped forward to drop a sack of coins into Crane's hand. "That's 650, alright? Now please leave."

"Ram, fuck's sake, don't give into them like that!"

"Aw, very sweet of the little sheep."

"Fuck you," Sloane said. A selfish part of Hurley hoped that was for her.

"So it's true, then?" Crane's grin stayed smug, but it was no longer satisfied. There was something new in the way they held themself. The way their head tilted as though trying to see from a different angle, the little bounce in their knee as they stood there. Behind those thin, grinning lips, they salivated for an answer. "What they say about the two of you, I mean."

"They say a lot of things about us. Now kindly fuck off out of my safehouse." Her tone was flippant, but the skin stretched taut over her knuckles as her fist kept tightening at her side. She had one arm outstretched toward the door, and that was held tensely, too.

But she might have just said yes. There weren't many these days in the racing scene who didn't at least suspect, and these were people who would wear their "lucky" boxers for two months straight if they thought it would let them win a race or outrun a cop. If they had a suspicion, any inkling of what might give them even the barest advantage, then they were acting on it already. Sloane lost nothing by confirming what everyone already thought they knew anyway.

As for what the pair of them stood to gain? Admittedly, Hurley wasn't quite sure. Maybe freedom, or maybe just a way of knowing that they'd been free all along. Free to share their victory kiss out in the open, drenched in sweat and the sun and the clamor of the crowd and each other. They didn't always have to crash together rough and quick as they ducked down a shadowed alleyway after a race.

"Sure, sure." They sneered. "I was just wondering if I could tell everyone that I heard wedding bells."

Her fingers uncoiled only to snap to the handle of the dagger at her thigh. Her shoulders were forward, the ruff of feathers around her collar seeming to puff out like the neck of a frilled lizard. She walked at them quick enough to startle them back a step, the black beak of her mask inches from their eye. Hurley had seen her like this before, this posturing. There was a time when she might have fallen for it herself. That was before she knew to look for the quickening of Sloane's breath, the way her whole body stiffened as if bracing for a blow. "Crane, if you fuck me over--"

"Alright, alright!" Their hands were up in front of them. "Fantasy Jesus Christ, you woke up on rather the wrong side of the bed, didn't you?"

"I got shot."

"And you're a very bad sport about it." They spun on their heel and raised their hand without looking back. "Happy trails, you two."

Sloane slumped as soon as their footsteps had faded completely. She was stable now, and the only blood left in the room had long since dried to shit-brown, but exhaustion pressed down on her like a hand on the place where her neck met her spine. Hurley saw it and had the thought, as though it had been whispered to her without warning, One of these days, I'm going to make you honest.

As soon as she sat on the bench, Hurley joined her. "Sloane?"

Sloane turned her way. This time, when she tried to lift the raven mask away, she wasn't prevented. For the first time since yesterday, she saw bright green eyes underlined by dark crescents, looking her softly all over. She brushed aside the strands of hair that had been plastered to the side of her face by sweat since last night, rubbed lightly at the indents in her skin that had been left by the mask. She closed her eyes slowly when Hurley ran a thumb over her cheek, and she turned her head to the side when Hurley tried to get a better look to see if she was okay, and this was how Sloane loved her, by giving way to her like this. And this was why she loved to be loved by Sloane, because she relented for no one else, because she let herself be cared for by no one else. This belonged to Hurley alone.

Though that didn't mean it always had to he behind closed doors.

"What are you lookin' at?" Sloane finally murmured with a small, tired smile. "I know I look like shit."

"I'm sure I do, too. We both haven't slept." In the growing light just before sunrise, she could see what she hadn't before, the smaller cuts across her chest and over her arms. Nothing big, but there, and red. "They missed all of this."

Sloane raised her brows a little. "I didn't ask them to take a look."

"You shouldn't have to ask." Hurley stared her down on purpose as she said it, to make sure the words stuck out to her.

It was unclear whether they did. She glanced away and scratched at her hairline. After seeming to think for a moment, then, she quickly said, "Well, they would've charged me more for that, I bet. Speaking of which, I guess this means I'm paying you back, huh?"

"You're an ass," Hurley said just before kissing her, slowly this time. Sloane placed her hands over Hurley's where they rested against her damaged chest, keeping them pressed there. She had her eyes closed, since she didn't have to look to feel the way the warm healing magic flowed from her fingers and into Sloane's body. She could sense the cuts in her skin closing one by one.

If she could help it, she'd always be the reason Sloane turned honest. She'd be the reason Sloane showed her exhaustion, the reason she felt safe enough to doze at dawn in a run-down old apartment the way she was now. She'd be the excuse for Sloane not to play hard all the time.

And it didn't have to be now, but someday she'd love her so hard that they'd have to be out in the open about it.

[miss-pearlescent]

Tag Team (IV)

Chapter: I II IIIᴹ IV V VI VII VIII IX Xᴹ

When Kai had grabbed the guard standing at the side of the laboratory doors, he did not expect the guard to be so light...or scream like a girl.

Nor did he expect the guard to cry in a corner for hours after he had brought her to his cell.

Kai had planned this out for days after he had woken up. He wanted revenge and payment for everything he’d been promised. He’d gone through weeks of hell and was treated like a slave after all the experiments.

He had thought he would get the upper hand if he could kidnap a high-ranking guard and hold them hostage until he got what he wanted. He thought anybody left to guard the laboratory was high enough on the ranking that they’d be important.

But no way the crying woman that was glued to the wall could have been an important asset to Kai’s enemies.

Kai cursed under his breath when he heard another sniffle from the other end of the room. That was the only sound she would make ever since he grabbed her hours ago. Nothing he said could make her talk...not that he had spoken to her much.

As soon as he had taken her, he put the cuffs he’d stolen around her tiny wrists and then pulled her behind him as he ran toward his cell where he’d spent the last few weeks.

The moment he pulled off her helmet and saw the watery eyes and wet cheeks, he knew he had made a mistake.

But there had to be a reason why she was the sole guard left to man the laboratory doors. Kai kept her cuffed while he interrogated her, but she would not say a word. She just kept looking at the ground while fat tears dripped to the floor.

He couldn’t bring himself to threaten her, not when her lip trembled after he raised his voice even a little. She reminded him too much of his older sister who often took the blame whenever he got them into trouble back in town. She would always shut down and take it, no matter that none of it was her fault.

He refused to be the one to hurt this woman who happened to be caught in a bad situation by circumstance.

But now he was stuck in a rut. He couldn’t let the woman go; that would only land him in a ton of shit and without any leverage. But it had been hours and nobody had come looking for her. Obviously she was not as important as he had thought.

Another sniff from the other side of the room made Kai’s head hang low. Guilt was starting to seep into his bones.

Then a faint grumble.

Some days, Kai was glad he had ultra sensitive hearing.

He grabbed an energy bar from under his bed, ones that tasted sweet and salty—his favourite—and walked over to the corner where the woman cowered.

And man, did she cower.

Even though her back was facing him, her body seemed to shrink even smaller when his shadow approached her.

“Here,” he said softly, not wanting to make her jump. “Food.”

He came around and held the snack out to her.

But she seemed to be on a hunger strike because though she looked at the energy bar with longing, she shook her head.

“It’s safe to eat,” he said. When she still didn’t take it, he let out a sigh and took a seat in front of her. “I’m not trying to starve you.” The energy bar would keep her full for a couple of hours.

Her only response was to cross her legs under her, farther away from him, as she wiped the fresh tears from her face.

Man, how long could somebody cry before they dehydrated themselves?

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, the one he usually used to wipe his sweat on his training days, and held it out to her.

When she refused to take that too, he decided to wipe her cheeks for her.

He took it as a good sign when she didn’t pull away, but she did close her eyes and shake a little.

Then more tears fell, and he felt like the ultimate asshole.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured, but he knew no matter what he said, he wouldn’t be able to convince her.

Would he trust somebody who kept him prisoner?

He let out a mental laugh because that was exactly what he did when he left his home in search of work to support his family.

After he dabbed her cheeks for a bit longer, he pressed the handkerchief to her hand, leaving it for her when she needed it. “What’s your name?” he asked, because he was tired of being the bad guy in this situation. “I’m Kai.”

She stared down at the wrinkled handkerchief. It was worn down but there was a clear K embroidered in the corner with black thread. Her gaze flickered upwards to his face and he could see the tears that made her eyelashes clump together. “I’m Joori,” she said.

-

The gears in Joori’s head turned back and forth. A few hours ago, she was on a mission to rescue a kidnapped teammate, and now she was the one kidnapped. Her anxious brain wouldn’t stop telling her that she was going to die here.

Why?

Her teammates had made no contact.

And her kidnapper proved to be stronger and faster than most humans when he had dragged her up and down dozens of hallways. Her teammates didn’t stand a chance even if they did find her in this jail cell.

But now her kidnapper was being kind to her. And she had a name for him.

Kai.

If she could pretend to be his friend, he might spare her.

So she offered him her name.

She watched as he unwrapped the granola bar he had brought and broke the bar in half, handing one half to her while he took a bite out of his half.

Her stomach growled once again and she couldn’t say no. She was really hungry.

She stuffed the granola bar into her mouth, almost moaning at how sweet and chewy it was. Her eyes were fixated to the ground as she chewed slowly, but she paid close attention to all of Kai’s movements.

Just in case.

The only sound in the small room was that of the crinkling wrapper as she folded it in her fingers.

Then Kai was holding out his unfinished half of the granola bar to her.

She looked up, surprised, and shook her head.

He lifted his chin, indicating she should take his offer. “C’mon, I’m sure they feed you guys well up there, but this is pretty good right? You’ll never get another chance to have it ever again if you don’t take it now.” She didn’t know what he meant, but when she still didn’t accept his offer, he added, “Don’t worry, I have a whole stash.”

Fine, if he said so.

Joori took the rest of the granola bar and popped it in her mouth in one bite.

Kai turned and leaned against the wall, resting his arm on a bent knee. She studied his physique, needing to find some weakness.

Except his arms looked like he lifted elephants for a living, and his grey eyes made him look out of this world.

How was she supposed to run from him?

She looked down at the cuffs around her wrists, knowing they were a special brand. When she had tried to get out of them, spikes grew out and poked painfully at her skin even with the sleeves of the guard suit in the way. It was an interesting prototype, if only they weren’t keeping her trapped here.

She was too small and weak to run. All she could do was wait.

“Joori?” a female voice rang out in her right ear.

She tried not to gasp.

They finally contacted her. Her teammates finally—

Her shocked gaze flickered up as Kai’s head turned her way. She held her breath and begged for silence.

“Joori, are you there?”

No, no, no. That was too loud. Her ear piece seemed to be on max volume.

But no way Kai could hear that, could he?

He narrowed his eyes, leaning forward. Maybe if she kicked him in the balls right now, he would pass out and she could run.

Where the heck would she run?

Joori cleared her throat as she heard her name being called out again. She couldn’t let him hear her only source of communication with her people.

But he seemed to know exactly where the sound came from as he crept closer and brushed her hair behind her ear.

It wasn’t visible on the outside, but the microchip was loud enough if you pressed your ear against the user’s ear. That’s exactly what Kai did.

“Joori, can you hear me? We’re coming for you so please stay safe, okay?”

She was both relieved and scared. Her team was coming to rescue her, but they were also coming back to a danger zone. She wanted to tell them to stay back, to leave her here to figure things out herself like she’d always done.

It was hard to have people care for you.

“If you can hear this,” Kai’s voice was deep and low as he whispered in her ear, his warm breath brushing the hairs on her neck. “You have forty-eight hours to produce $500 000 as payment for your Joori.”

Joori could only hear a tiny gasp on the other end. If her body wasn’t frozen in fear, she would’ve totally kicked Kai in the balls right then. But what would that get her? Probably a kick in the head right back.

“She will be at the Rich Valley escarpment at sunset. If you don’t have the money, then you won’t have Joori either.”

Joori went cold. Rich Valley escarpment was one of the highest cliffs in the country, looking over white water rapids. She could only guess that if her team didn’t produce the money, then Kai would throw her over the edge.

“Copy.” A man’s voice came through her earpiece. It must have been Jongin.

Then silence.

Joori closed her eyes as Kai pulled away. When she had been recruited by her uncle to join his unit of spies as their developer, she had expected to be behind a desk, tinkering away at gadgets and weapons. Never had she thought she would actually be on the front lines.

This line of work is dangerous. Mr. Lee had told her. She had nodded in agreement but her naivety got the best of her. Now here she was, a hostage who couldn’t even do anything to save herself.

---

Mwahahaha! Kidnapping! Hostages! Stockholm Syndrome? >:) Anything is possible in the world of ~fanfiction~

I’m putting this chapter out a little earlier than usual because I’m going to be pretty busy this weekend but also because OBSESSION IS OUT! WHOO!

[vanillacaramelhoney]

Look for Me (12/12)

Pairing(s): Robin Buckley x Reader

Summary: Princess Robin Buckley, since the age of eight, was always seen with another girl- (Y/n) (L/n). They always chose to be together, but when (Y/n) is chosen as one of Robin's personal guards, they're practically tied together. It seems innocent to everyone, but so much more can happen behind closed doors.

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, implied death, poor writing

A/N: I hope y’all regret asking for this. Stream the acoustic version of where’s my love by syml for depression. I just want you to listen to it- it doesn’t even need to be right now.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Previous

That Day

Silence is one of those things that drags on. It makes it seem that time passes much slower than it actually is.

Silence can be maddening.

There were so many things she could think about in the time it would take for Robin and her father to stop fighting. There were so many things she could think about before the inevitable.

So, she sat in silence. The only thing she could hear was her heart beating and her heavy breathing with the occasional footsteps passing the room she was shoved in.

(Y/n) had no idea how long she had been in the room, nor did she know how much longer she'd be in it.

The door opened with a loud creak, drawing (Y/n)'s attention.

Two guards stood in the doorway, staring her down. One signaled for her to stand.

Apparently, she wasn't staying for much longer. But where would she be going?

She could think of several options, but it seemed to be a simple room change- to the dungeons.

Okrynth was a very crime free kingdom- there were only a few people currently locked up. Very few people were brought down, so when (Y/n) was, all eyes were on her as she passed.

The guards stationed her in a cell, locked it, and left her to the silence again.

~

Robin's mind was a mess, and her throat was sore from yelling and arguing with her father for nearly six hours straight.

Her body was still high on adrenaline, and it wouldn't be coming down any time soon.

Right now, though, she needed to get to (Y/n).

Robin hurried down the corridor that led to the room (Y/n) was waiting in. Only, she got pulled aside.

She came face to face with Steve- she only recognized him because of (Y/n) hanging around him.

"What are you doing?" Robin asked, pulling her arm away.

"She is not there anymore," Steve told her.

"What?"

"(Y/n)- she got moved to the dungeons hours ago," he explained.

Robin cursed under her breath- it was her luck to miss her.

Steve went fishing through his pocket. He pulled out a delicate black key.

"It should unlock any of the cell doors, along with the door to the dungeons," Steve said, placing it in her hand.

"Do you even know why she is in there?" Robin asked, showing apparent disbelief that he would help her.

"You two are dating, got caught, and she is taking the fall for it, yadda, yadda, yadda. I'm not an asshole," Steve waved her off. "Go get your girlfriend." He nudged her forward.

Without hesitation, Robin dashed off and threw a quick "thank you" back to Steve. She navigated her way through the castle, doing her best to remain unseen. The last thing she needed right now was for someone to stop her.

She reached the hall that led to the dungeons, hiding behind a pillar. She peeked over, glaring at the sight of two guards standing off to the side of the door.

She couldn't use the excuse that her father wanted to talk to them- they are smart enough to know that it's a lie. If she asked to speak to (Y/n), they would follow her to make sure she didn't try anything. While they didn't directly focus on the door, it was impossible for Robin merely to sneak past them.

There was nothing she could do. But, it seemed that Steve had thought ahead for her.

She could barely see him approach the guards. She had no idea what he said to them, but they walked off. He looked down the hall and caught her gaze before waving her over.

Robin left her hiding spot and headed to the door. Steve left as she approached, most likely going to distract the guards.

She quickly unlocked the door and slipped inside before anyone could possibly catch her.

Moving down the stairs as fast as she could, Robin didn't bother being quiet. All she would do is disturb the people locked up, and it wasn't like they would do much.

She walked down the corridor, checking in every cell as she passed. There were many empty ones, and the criminals were all spaced out.

Finally, she managed to find (Y/n).

The girl sat near a corner of the cell, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

The sound of Robin's footsteps stopping in front of her cell drew her attention. Her eyes widened, and she raced to stand. She approached the bars that separated them.

"What are you doing down here?" (Y/n) asked, watching as Robin unlocked the door. She swung it open, staring at (Y/n). "Robin?"

"We need to leave."

"He didn't change his mind, did he?" (Y/n) whispered.

Robin bit her lip, tears beginning to collect. That was all (Y/n) needed.

"Robin...," (Y/n) trailed off.

"We need to leave," Robin repeated. "I'm sure we can find somewhere safe to go."

(Y/n) shook her head. "No."

"What do you mean, 'no?'" Robin asked.

"You cannot throw your life away for me," (Y/n) told her. "I am not going to mess up your life by making you do that."

"You are not making me do anything," Robin said. "I am choosing to do this."

"I know, but that doesn't change anything," (Y/n) whispered. She brought her hands and cupped Robin's cheeks. "Go back upstairs."

"(Y/n), I can't leave you," Robin whimpered. Her tears began collecting where (Y/n)'s hands cradled her cheeks.

"Hey," (Y/n) choked, tearing up. "Look for me, okay?" Robin knew what she meant.

(Y/n) could hear the footsteps of multiple people approaching the dungeons. They were coming for her.

"You need to go," (Y/n) said, urgency in her voice.

"No," Robin tried to resist. Her hands came up to grip (Y/n)'s wrists.

"Robin, you have to," said (Y/n). "If they do anything to you, I will be devastated."

"And what about you? What about what they are going to do to you?!" Robin cried, tears coming down faster.

(Y/n) smiled sadly at her, the tears finally streaking down her cheeks.

"If you are safe, I could care less about myself," she said. "As your guard, I must protect you."

"No. You have to listen to me! You have to come with me! I can't let him hurt you!" Robin pleaded. "Please. Out of all the times you decide not to listen to me, do not make this one of those times!"

(Y/n) leaned in to press a kiss to Robin's lips, distracting her.

She slowly led the girl back into the cell. They pulled away and let go of each other as (Y/n) stepped around Robin.

"(Y/n)?" Robin's voice was nearly nonexistent.

"I have to keep you safe," (Y/n) whispered. She tore the key from Robin's hand and ran out of the cell.

Before Robin could reach it, she closed the cell door and locked it, leaving Robin to grasp onto the bars.

As much as it broke (Y/n)'s heart, she ignored Robin's cries to let her out.

The girl wiped her tears away and walked off, leaving Robin behind her.

When she reached the stairs, she stopped when a guard appeared. He seemed momentarily shocked to see her out of her cell but shook it off when more guards joined him.

"How the hell did you get out?" one asked.

She tossed the key to them, keeping a blank expression.

"You, uh," (Y/n) clear her throat, trying not to break. She pointed a thumb behind her. "You might want to go check on her."

The group of guards glanced amongst one another before two broke off to pass her.

"So, is everything ready then?" she asked.

"Are you going to cooperate, or do we need to shackle you?"

"Not necessary," (Y/n) said. "Lead the way."

With two guards grasping her arms, they led her off.

Back in the cell, Robin could see the two approaching guards. She waited impatiently, tapping her foot. She bit her nails out of nervousness.

The guards were surprised to see her standing in the cell.

"Let me out," she pleaded.

The guard with the key did such, unlocking the door and opening it for her.

Robin immediately rushed past them, ignoring their yells for her to stop.

She sped up the stairs and into the hall. She looked around for a sign of which way they had taken (Y/n), but there was nothing.

Robin chose to follow the hall that would take her out of the castle the quickest.

"Robin! Hey! Robin!" Steve's voice called her.

Hesitating, she stopped to let him catch up.

"Where's (Y/n)?" he asked.

Robin bit her lip. "She locked me in the cell and left. The guards were coming," she answered.

"Shit," Steve muttered. "Come on!" He pulled her forward, and they ran to one of the many exits of the castle.

They ended up at the front of the castle. 

Despite the distance, they could see a crowd taking up the entire town square.

Steve urged Robin along. If they were quick enough, they could make it in time. It was a very slim chance, but Robin had to take it.

Steve led her along every shortcut he knew to get there faster.

They reached the edge of the loud crowd. In the center of everyone was (Y/n), Robin's father, and several guards.

Robin's heart rate spiked.

She tried to run forward, but Steve wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her away.

"Steve, let me go!" Robin cried.

"It's too late," he whispered to her. "It's too late."

"It's not. It's not!" Despite her cries, Robin knew he was right. There was no saving her lover. Still, she struggled in Steve's grasp.

"You don't need to see this," Steve reasoned as he tried to pull her away.

She shook her head, continuing to beg for him to release her.

Robin could faintly see (Y/n) find her eyes. She offered a sad smile that spoke volumes.

Both knew that sooner or later, they'd be caught, and one of them would have to pay the consequences.

That day had come.

Robin fell back into Steve, who sat her down on the ground.

The sight of her lover's blood pooling and soaking into the wooden platform made her sick to her stomach.

[avengerscompound]

The Unicorn - Chapter 9

The Unicorn:  A Pepperony Fanfic PREVIOUS

Series Masterlist

Buy me a coffee with Ko-fi Word Count:    2019

Pairing:  Tony Stark x F!Reader x Pepper Potts

Warnings:  Sex talk.

Synopsis:  Tony takes you and Pepper to a gala at the Rockefeller Center as a way to announce your relationship to the world

The Unicorn

Tony sat between you and Pepper in the back of the car.  It had only been recently that he’d started to let Happy drive the car.  He couldn’t quite explain why he had hated letting people take the wheel in the first place nor exactly what point he was okay with it.  He just knew that normally he’d have driven Pepper in one of his two-seater sports cars, and today the three of you were sitting a little squashed in the back of Audi A8 and he felt happy.

Actually happy.  Not that temporary feeling of euphoria that he used to chase by hopping from bed to bed or taking drugs.  Definitely not the dulling of his emotions all together he attempted by drinking himself into a stupor.  A real genuine sense of contentment.  He had two women he loved at his side.  They were trying for a kid.  And now he was going to go out into the world and make a statement.  This is me and I am finally happy and have people who genuinely care about me.

You were coming out at Gala at the Rockefeller Center.  Tony had opted for Prada.  A black tuxedo with a white shirt and black bow tie.  You and Pepper had both opted for gowns by Ralph and Russo.  Pepper was in off-white silk, satin, and organza, with hand cut scallops that went from small semi-circles at the structured bodice to large ones at the asymmetrical A-line skirt that reached the floor and spread out in a short train behind her.  You had managed to tie both his look and Pepper’s together while keeping your look so very you.  Your dress was hand pleated chiffon with a strapless, geometric bodice. While the two primary colors were black and white a stripe of pale pink and pale mint ran beside the heart shape black panels on the bodice and bled out into the skit.  Outlining the heart was a line of lavender that did the same.  A cape was attached to a choker made from Swarovski Crystals and opals.  It was the same, white, mint, pink and lavender chiffon and billowed out behind you as you walked.  While pepper had done her make in the smoky eyes and muted tones she usually used, you had gone with pink and purple eyeshadow, winged eyeliner and a dark red lipstick that seemed to glitter when the light hit it.  How the two of you had managed to both look yourselves, while match and neither stand out over the other amazed him, but you did.

Pepper was relatively calm at least for Pepper.  She always entered business mode when she was out in public.  Straight back and ready to deal with any problem thrown at her.   Which to be honest, was usually thrown at her by him, but he did like seeing her make things happen.  Especially when there was a little unreasonableness to the request.

You, on the other hand, were showing clear signs of nerves.  It wasn’t like you.  You were normally completely relaxed under any kind of pressure.  You had met him and the Avengers like you regularly came in contact with superheroes and it was no big deal at all.  You went out all the time.  You wore clothes that drew the eyes of everyone in the room.  You could stand in front of a lecture theatre full of people and talk about quantum physics with no problem at all.  Yet, right now you sat beside him, squeezing his hand that little bit too hard and shifting in your seat a little too much.

“It’s just a bunch of rich assholes, you know?  And maybe a few actors that really believe in conservation and had their ticket paid for.”  Tony said, rubbing his thumb in circles along the back of your hand.

“Yeah.  I can picture the asshole’s faces when they realize we’re together.”  You said, clenching your jaw.

Tony laughed.  “It’ll be great.”

You looked at him suspiciously and Pepper rolled her eyes.

“Oh come on!  You don’t want to see a bunch of old farts have a near heart attack because god forbid three people like bumping uglies?”  Tony argued.

“Bumping uglies?”  Pepper groaned.  “Really, Tony?”

Tony started laughing again at the incredulous tone in Pepper’s voice but it had done the job.  You relaxed a little, leaning against him more and softening the grip on his hand.

Happy pulled up at the curb where there were security railing keeping press and people hoping to spot celebrities back.  There was a red carpet running from the curb to the doors and as soon as the car pulled up someone rushed forward and opened the door.

Pepper stepped out first which immediately led to people calling out both her name and his.  Tony followed after her and offered his hand to you.  You took it and let him help you out of the car, and when he put an arm around both you and Pepper and started to walk, the press went crazy.  They yelled out to him over and over, so that all he could hear was a cacophony of Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark.

He didn’t stop or answer questions but the three of you stopped for photos from time to time up the red carpet.  Always switching positions so that it didn’t just look like he’d somehow managed to talk Pepper into something illicit.  Each time the three of you stopped, he could make out questions but they were all just who you were.  He knew by the time you came out again they'll have worked it out and the questions would get more personal.

When you got through the door he grabbed a Champaign from the first waiter that passed him and you and Pepper followed suit.  “That wasn’t so bad was it?”  He said giving you a squeeze around your waist.

“Are you kidding me?  That was mental.  You do this regularly?”  You asked looking around the room.

Tony shrugged.  “Kinda grew up with it.”

“Honestly, you do get used to it.  It was part of my job for so long, I just enter work mode as soon as the flashbulbs start going off.”  Pepper said.

“Right.  Work mode.”  You said.

“Not sure if work mode will work for you,”  Tony said, giving you a nudge.

“No, not if anyone actually wants to speak to me.”  You agreed.

Some people came to speak to Tony and he did his best to brush them off and generally played coy when asked questions about the relationship the three of you had.  You and Pepper stayed close together and Pepper deflected most questions before they even managed to make it to the end.

Halfway through the dinner, he could see you start fidgetting.  To be fair it was extremely boring.  These things always were.  He’d already folded and unfolded his own napkin into 8 different geometric designs.  He put his hand on your knee and traced his finger in small circles on it.

You leaned your head against his shoulder.  “You could have warned me this was so fucking boring.”  You whispered.

He snorted earning a death glare from Pepper.  “To be fair, I’m usually much drunker than I am right now and I would have walked out halfway through.”

“Oh, can we do that?  Please?  Let’s walk out halfway through.”  You begged, still keeping your voice hushed.  Your lips came much closer to his ear so he could feel the heat of your breath against his skin.  “I’ve been debating whether I could get away with jerking you off under the table and no one noticing for what feels like an hour now.”

Tony poked his tongue into his cheek and looked at you out of the side of his eye.  That was a tempting offer.  He hadn’t done anything that risky since the playboy days and he couldn’t pretend he didn’t think about it.

Not that Pepper wasn’t kinky.  She was one of the kinkiest women he’d ever been with.  It just had a time and a place and that was usually in the bedroom.  Pepper’s kinks ran formal and serious like she was.  You, on the other hand, your kinks were as wild as you were.  You liked the things Pepper did, but you were much more spontaneous.  When she suggested something you just enthusiastically went along with it.  You like to experiment.  Sample from everything available to you.  It was easy to get caught up in.

His hand tightened on your thigh.  “I think as fun as that sounds, Pepper will ground us.”  He whispered.  “Besides, the huge, sticky wet patch on my pants might be a dead give away.”

You started giggling silently beside him and his fingers tightened on your thigh.  He leaned over towards Pepper.  “You think we can make an early exit?  Someone is getting antsy.”  He whispered.

“And is that someone you?”  Pepper teased.

Tony chuckled.  “Well yes.  But not who I was talking about.”

Pepper looked over at you and you raised your hand to your mouth, sticking the tips of your index and middle fingers to the corners of your mouth and very quickly darting your tongue out between your lavender painted nails.

“Oh, good lord.  I can’t take either of you anywhere.”  She groaned but he could hear the smothered laughter in her voice.  She looked up at the speaker at the podium and then back at him.  “When people start applauding this guy.”

He droned on for another fifteen minutes and when he finally stopped speaking the crowd began to applaud.  Pepper stood, followed quickly by Tony.   He took your hand and tugged it and you scrambled up after him.  The three of you wove your way to the edge of the room and Tony texted Happy to let him know they were on the way out.

“Can we never go to a gala again?”  You asked.

“They aren't all bad.  If we waited until later there would have been dancing.” Pepper said.

“We can go dancing without the lectures about things I probably understand better than they do.” You said.

Tony laughed and wrapped an arm around both of you.  “Is that what you want to do now?  Go dancing?”

The three of you stepped out of the door.  There was a brief pause where no one had realized that they there and then like a wave, the shouting and flashbulbs started up.

“I'll do some horizontal dancing.” You said.

Tony smirked and kissed your cheek.  “That was not as sexy as you think it was.”

Amongst the current of Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark he started hearing your name too.  He assumed to make it known they knew who you were.  You looked up at him, your eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.  “Shit, that didn't take long.”

“We knew this would happen, don't worry,” Pepper reassured you.

“Shit,” You cursed.  “I haven't told anyone!”

Tony laughed and directed you both down to the curb as Happy pulled up.  “They're gonna know now.”

“Mister Stark would you care to make a comment on your relationship with these two women?” Someone yelled from the melee.

Tony turned and raised his eyebrows at the large group before following the two of you into the back of the car.

“What do I do?  What do I tell people?” You asked, a slight panic to your voice.

Pepper put her arm around your shoulders and you leaned into her.  “Whatever you like.  We’ve got your back.  If you're worried about people coming for you for money, or the fame, we are here to give you whatever support you need.”

“Guess I should call my parents first.” You said with a sigh.

Tony took his phone from the inside of his jacket pocket and handed it to you.  He draped a hand over both Pepper and your lap and kissed Pepper’s cheek.  The potential fall out of this was going to be interested. Part of him was excited to see it.

// NEXT

[bluepenguinstories]

Happiness Overload Chapter Forty

Never mind all that bullshit, here's where the REAL story begins:

So as we all know, Conrad and Velvet are assholes who should never be trusted. Unless it's trusting them to be untrustworthy, and in that case, yeah! They're super fucking trustworthy! We also know that the police aren't to be trusted. Never have been, never will. But me, being an idiot, thought that those two double-crossing snakes were in some kind of danger, and thinking (again, like a fucking moron) that some no-good cops would save them.

No, instead, I got punched in the face, then I found myself on the run from them, with gunfire out in the streets. Man, this city's really gone to shit. I didn't wanna believe it, but ain't no denyin' it now.

So that's where we're at. Any questions? No? Good. So, anyway...

I was still being chased when I turned the corner and ran into an alleyway and tried to hide behind a dumpster. I sat down and tried to catch my breath.

“Damn...asthma...”

Me, a total dumbass, forgot to take my inhaler with me when I left Conrad's little hideout.

“Shit. Maybe I should go back there?”

I peeked out from behind the dumpster to see cops still running by. None of them bothered to check the alleyway where I was at.

“Ha! Those pigs are total idiots!”

I then coughed and wheezed. Oh yeah. The breathing thing.

“Well, well, well. If it isn't ol' K-Rog,” came a baritone (not sure if that's the right description, but what I'm getting at is that it was deep) voice. What I saw in front of me was this tall man with a baseball cap and a sinister smile. In other words, stranger danger.

“I don't know how you know me, but I should inform you that the police are currently after me, so if you try any funny business, they'll probably shoot you too.”

“This is a lovely alleyway,” he responded. Or didn't respond? It sure didn't sound like a reply.

“Yeah, yeah, that's what a predator would say.”

“You'll soon get to know me,” he lunged at me, but I jumped out of the way and ran out from the dumpster. My lungs were still on fire. Now, logic would dictate that I would be safe, but no. Mr. Predator Man grabbed me by the back of my shirt just as I started to run and lifted me up.

“Hey! Let me go!”

He ran out into the streets, and I tried to struggle free, but damn, he had a tight grip.

Anyway, although I was quite the fighter, I don't always end up a winner. After like an hour, I ended up in some spooky warehouse building. Man, I really didn't like the way things were going.

“Name's Marco, kiddo.”

“And I give a fuck why?”

“Oh, you will. Mm...yes. My head is clear today. Just like the skies. You cannot see them because we're indoors, but trust me. It's beautiful.”

“Yeah, well maybe I prefer the indoors, anyway.”

“Let's cut to the chase, buddy: I want you to join my hacktivist group, Lilypad.”

I gasped.

“I heard of you guys! I thought your group was so cool!”

He laughed.

“So you'll join? I didn't think it would be that easy.”

“Yeah, over my cold, dead, body. I liked you guys back when I was like 10 and just learning to DDoS. You guys are cringe now, though. Like, what do you even do?”

He looked taken aback.

“Our goal is to make the world a better place for frogkind and we need your help. The Flashbulb, an organization that we're sure Conrad has told you all about, is threatening to cause the extinction of amphibians everywhere, but with you --”

“Pass.”

“What?”

“Look, sure, I'm a hacker, but you and I are totally different. I only hack to do noble things, like order figurines online without having to pay any money. I can't get behind your cause.”

Dude looked floored.

“In the end, I won't force you, but I think you should get all the facts, first. Besides, there are no places to run. Even if you manage to leave this place, I have connections all around the city. Now...”

He pressed a button on a small remote and the doors to the warehouse opened up. His mistake, since as soon as they started opening up, I bolted for it.

“...I should have considered this would happen,” I could hear him say. Too little, too late, my not-friend.

Outside, I found myself at a dock, but that didn't matter much to me. I ran up some stairs and once I saw the main road, I knew how to get to my parent's place from here.

Now I'm on the run from not only the cops, but also a creeper.

The whole way home, I checked behind me to see if I was being chased. Even when I couldn't see any signs of a pursuer, I continued running, only stopping probably, like, a thousand times to catch my breath.

As sad as it may have been to admit, my parents weren't the best people. I hadn't seen them in, I don't know, weeks? Months? A year? Well, I had to cut my losses eventually and just try to seek refuge somewhere. So when I went up the stairs and knocked on the door to the apartment, of course this is what my mom said to me:

“Kelly Roger? Is that you? Oh my god! I missed you so much! We've been worried sick about you! I remember filing a missing persons report on you over a year ago, but nothing ever came of it! Please, come in! Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, yeah. You guys have Wi-Fi?” I barged into the apartment, went into the room that was once my bedroom and grabbed a spare laptop and an old backpack.

My dad appeared in frame and shook his head. “We're terrible sorry, money's been tight. We've been struggling just to pay rent.”

How shocking. I couldn't believe what I heard.

“Well, it was nice seeing you guys. No Wi-Fi, no stay.”

I walked back down the stairs and my mom called for me. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“Somewhere with Wi-Fi,” I replied, my words bitter and filled with sorrow.

Yes, sometimes families aren't the best, and sometimes, you just had to go your own way, and that is just what I did.

“Can you believe that, Polo?!”

“Polo.”

“I know, right?!”

“Polo.”

“Now what are we going to do? Kelly Roger was integral to our...” I lost my train of thought due to having another thought. Of me. In another time. “Oh yeah. I was already succeeded once.”

I began laughing.

“Now why do I need the world when I've already got the city under my thumb?”

I laughed harder. My sister was right there, probably not very amused.

“Oh, Polo, dear sister. Don't worry. We will get you a girlfrog yet. Girlfrog? Frogfriend? Let's settle on girlfriend for now. It's simple and easy to remember.”

“Polo!”

“Yes. Gay frogs are the future.”

Kelly Roger not being a part of our little family put a dent in things, but it was not the end of the world. That wouldn't come for at least another three years. For the time being, I would need to continue building my empire.

“Come, sister. We must see how our gay siblings are doing back at the base.”

Hand in hand, Polo and I took to our froggy destination.

Bitter didn't even cut it; I was sipping on some strong coffee.

No, I wasn't where I wanted to be. Neither in life, nor physically. Where I was was some overrated coffee shop where Wi-Fi was for “customers only”. Like, who did they think they were? This was a public utility. People should have rioted, but instead they all just ordered their overpriced coffee.

Then there was me: hypocrite of the year. No complaints, just ordered the darkest roast they had and ordered that dark roast black. As I stared into the cup, I reflected on my situation.

No friends, no home, no trust. Enemies around every corner. Cops scavenging for my scent, their pocket lined by whoever it was they worked for. Conrad would have said some light bulb people, but me? I knew corruption when I smelled it. There was work at play that delusional snake couldn't even imagine.

...But I could, because I was the best at digging up dirt.

I looked up and noticed a security camera in the corner of the ceiling. I lowered my cap (well, I found it on the ground in an alleyway on the way to the coffee shop. For all I knew, it could have belonged to that Markov guy or whatever his name was, but it was mine now) so the camera couldn't catch my face.

I stared back at my laptop and tried to plan out my next line of attack. My stomach growled, which wasn't good, but not much I could do about that. I needed money. Not just to eat, but to survive in this dog-eat-dogshit world. Luckily, I found a five dollar bill on my way to the coffee shop, but now that was gone, used up to pay for this bitter reminder of my situation.

What I need is a job. It's probably not that hard to fake a social security card.

There was one time when I just got out of high school when I worked a job. Papa Dad's Pizza or something like that. Don't mean to brag or nothin', but I was too good for those losers. So, of course, the manager conspired to get rid of me. One day, he gave me a call to break the news:

“Kelly Roger, why aren't you at work?”

“Sorry, boss, but an emergency situation came up and I had to stay home.”

“You should have called in!”

“Yeah, but the new Fire Emblem game just came out and it's taken up all my attention.”

“WHAT?!”

“Yeah, crazy, right? Apparently they added a gay romance option and I've been trying to pursue Byleth, but dude's hard to woo!”

“You're not at work 'cause of some VIDEO GAME?”

“It be like that sometimes, boss.”

“You're fired!”

The call ended without me able to plead my case. All I could do was go back to tending to royal pretty boys. Real tragic gamer moment.

Ah, but that was then. I've grown since then. I wasn't about to let something like 'being fired' stop me from working. I knew my worth and I knew I was worth more than some shitty pizza joint.

All it took was seconds, and I found a place. I went ahead and sent them an email:

Dear assholes,

Your computer repair shop looks dope as fuck, but you really ought to hire someone who knows their shits. I just defaced your website and put porn on the front page. Now, if you hire me, I can remove it, and keep your site secure so shit like that doesn't happen. Attached is my resume. There's nothing on it because I think my skills speak for themselves.

Sincerely,

K.R.

If I just gave out my name, that'd be self-incriminating. Only a complete moron would do that. Too many wandering eyes out there to do something so moronic. Initials, on the other hand? That could mean anything. Smarts right there.

Within minutes, I got my reply:

Dear KR,

Thank you for applying to RAM It In, your one-stop shop for all your computer repair needs. After reviewing your resume, we have decided to move on with other applicants at this time. Furthermore, we are not currently looking for a web designer. We wish you the best in your future endeavors and invite you to apply again once you've had more experience.

'Experience'? Really? As if someone like me needed 'experience'. Didn't they know who I was? I've got a whole-ass reputation.

My stomach growled once again.

Fine. Maybe I know my worth, but I also gotta eat. Sometimes, you gotta degrade yourself just to get by.

I stood up from my seat and went up to the front counter.

“Hey, you're gonna give me a job.”

“Uh, that's not really how that works,” the barista informed me, some acne ridden brunette teenager.

I felt bad for that poor kid. Probably 16, first job, didn't know how cutthroat the world could truly be. So naive. I was a teenager once. Just a couple years ago, in fact. But I've grown since then.

“Listen, Karen,” I set the record straight. It wasn't like I knew her name, but I had to sound authoritative. “Get your manager out here and we'll talk turkey. Or tofurkey, if that's how things roll around here.”

“I think you would be the Karen in this situation...”

“Manager. Now.”

She scurried off into the back. After a solid thirty seconds, the manager appeared. Some guy with one of those hipster-beards and hipster-glasses and that 'realer than thou' attitude. I wasn't about to learn that guy's name.

“Hey, boss man. You're gonna give me a job.”

“Yeah...” he didn't sound so pleased with me. Was I going to have to step up my assertiveness? “...That's not really how any of that works. See, first you fill out an application online, then maybe I'll call you for an interview, and then maybe after the interview, you might get the job.”

“Yeah, screw all those unnecessary steps. I already know how to make coffee. You just press some buttons and shit.”

“You also have to have good customer service skills.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally. I can do that no problem. Here, want me to prove it?”

There was some soccer mom walking by. I stopped her.

“Hey asshole, you want some coffee? Of course you do, you junkie!”

“Excuse me?” With her Pomeranian-type haircut, I could tell she would be a formidable foe. One of those types whose bark was not only worse than her bite, but a bite in of itself. Sure enough, she turned to the manager who was surely about to hire me.

“This young man...ma'am? This young...hooligan is harassing me! If you don't remove them from the store, I'm gonna sue!”

The manager raised an eyebrow. Probably the more obscure eyebrow of the two he had.

“Yeah, I'll have to ask you to leave. We can't be having you causing a scene.”

“Fine!” I huffed. “What's this place called, anyway?” I squinted my eyes. Their sign was so hard to read. Pretty sure I needed a new prescription. “Starbutts? Yeah, I never liked your shitty coffee, anyway! I'm off to bigger and better things.”

I stormed off, picking up my laptop and backpack on the way out. If it wasn't obvious, I was too good for that place, anyway. That establishment wouldn't survive long without the likes of me in their ranks. If anything, they needed me, not the other way around. But it was too late for them. They made their beds.

Speaking of bed making, I had no idea what I was going to do in terms of sleeping arrangements. Although the sun hadn't even come down yet, I was feeling pretty exhausted, so I found the nearest alleyway (a common occurrence by now) and dug through a dumpster. Inside was a large cardboard box. I folded it up and got inside.

If Solid Snake could do it, I should have no problem.

My eyes grew heavy. Real amazing how under the right conditions, the human body could sleep through anything.

As luck would have it, rain poured down.

Man, work was so boring. Lemme tell you, I just stare at a screen all day. There's not even ever anything good on. Now, saying all that, people probably would have gotten the wrong idea. So lemme set the record straight: life is peachy. Why wouldn't it be? I've had a great job, I was hired on to a company with great benefits, and all I had to do was spy on people.

What? You ask? You've heard all that before? No, that can't be right. First off, that redhead named Velvet was as good as dead. Besides, my hair is a normal brunette. I take my job seriously and I'm loyal to my company. She's got nothin' on me.

What? You've heard all that before, too? No, that can't be right, I'm--

“Celia V, are you lost in thought again?”

“HEY! FUCK YOU! I WAS NARRATING!”

Never mind that just now. That was just my boss. You know, head of the ETNA Corporation. Yeah, like I really needed to keep that a secret. Get real. We're, like, hidden behind seven layers of security, and just like Dante's Inferno, I'm on the sixth layer.

“Are you paying attention? Your observation on the one known as 'Kelly Roger' is vital.”

“Yeah, yeah. It's just so boring. I don't get why I'm doing this. Why not Conrad? Or Velvet? Or even the one that got away? What was their name again? Brawny? Yeah, lemme observe a roll of paper towels.”

“I have my reasons for my orders.”

I puffed my cheeks.

“Sure you do, but all's I'm saying is this kid's a loser. If you're that concerned, couldn't you just get a cop or a Prinny to kill them?”

“If you really must know, I have reason to believe that Kelly Roger poses no threat. However, I still wish to keep a close eye on them. Conrad must have had a reason to recruit Kelly Roger.”

“Hey doc, has it ever occurred to you that Conrad's an idiot, too?”

“Yes. Most are of low intelligence when compared to one such as I.”

“Not what I meant. I just mean, maybe there wasn't a very good reason. Maybe Conrad just figured three's company.”

I stroked my chin. I didn't have a beard or nothin', just thought that's what all the cool people did when they were in the middle of deep thought.

“Actually, now that you mention it, yeah. You may have a point, there. That's why you're the boss, huh?”

Yes...maybe there was some master plan that we didn't know about. Something that had gone under our noses the whole time. Maybe, just maybe, Kelly Roger was the key to it all.

When I woke up, the sun was shining and my clothes were damp and stuck to my skin, making me itch everywhere.

I did get a pretty nice rest, though. Maybe sleeping outside ain't so bad.

That's when I began to panic. It rained. That wasn't very cash money!

Just to be on the safe side, I checked my backpack. The outside was soaked, but inside, my laptop was still dry. What a relief.

Another relief was that I made it through an entire night without being mugged, robbed, beat up, or worse. Wasn't sure what could be worse, but another encounter with that Macaroni (that was his name, wasn't it?) man didn't sound pleasant.

“Now, my next course of action, should be...” I got up. I needed some plan. Just because a badass like me could survive a night in the streets didn't mean it would be a good idea to run into everything blind. Food, water, shelter. Basic human needs. If I was a basic human. “Nah, I'm no normie. What I need is my body pillow! How am I supposed to sleep without my waifu, in pillow form, to hug?”

Yes. All who were cultured knew the importance of having a husbando and/or waifu. Someone to hold. Someone two-dimensional. Without someone like that, well...the world would be cold.

When I last saw my waifu, who at the time, was the great and esteemed Palutena, she was locked away underground in the bunker. While I originally had no intention of ever going back there, some things were just too important. Not only did I leave my waifu, but also hard drives filled with hundreds of anime series and a handful of hentai, too. Those things were too precious to leave behind.

But didn't the base get raided, or something?

There my mind went, going straight to the negatives. Bad mind!

Maybe my room's still intact, at the very least. If it is, maybe I could go back, and sleep there. I would have a shelter and –

Spoilers: that didn't happen. When I got to the university, there was a large crowd. After shoving past everyone, seeing the yellow tape, I fell to the ground.

“My...waifu...”

Indeed, the university had all been reduced to rubble.

I looked around. There were cops. That was no good. They could have recognized me (and my brilliance, let's be honest here). I needed to bounce.

As I made my way through the crowd, I thought I was in the clear. That was, until some lady with a brown pony tail stopped me. She wore both a police uniform as well as a fake mustache. Very suspicious.

“Hey! You there!”

Shit. Okay, Kelly Roger. Act like a Normie. Be cool.

“Did you attend this school?”

“What's it to you?” I groaned.

“Just answer the question.” She tapped a baton against her hand. I gulped.

“Yeah.”

“What was your major?”

“Hentai studies.”

“BITCH, WHAT THE FUCK? THAT'S NOT A REAL MAJOR!”

I flinched and stood back.

“Ugh. What's it to you, anyway?”

“If you don't answer truthfully, I will make your life a living hell, you got that?”

“Hey, look over there! Someone's existing while poor!”

“Huh?” She turned around. That was my cue. I bolted.

Damn, I can't believe that worked. I really am a genius, aren't I?

Hate to admit it, but Kelly Roger was good. To think they could really fool me with something like that. They were definitely hiding something, and now that I met Kelly Roger in person, I knew why Dr. Etna sent me to spy on them.

“Back to HQ I go. This just got interesting.”

Pretty sure I lost track of that police lady. Good. I peeked out from the corner of the building I hid behind, just in case.

No sign of her.

Now, I would have let out a sigh of relief, if my breathing wasn't all out of whack. What I needed was an inhaler.

“Or...some...plushies...”

Could I even do that? Could I hack my way into ordering plushies online without having to pay? The answer would have been a resounding yes, but there was one problem: what address would I have sent it to?

I shook my head. After a good while, my breathing got normal again. Long while, but normal breathing, nonetheless.

That lady was not normal. That much was obvious. My best guess was that she wasn't any old police officer. Not that any of the police officers were good, they were all under the control of something. Between that lady, the corrupt cops, and that strange frog guy, there was something going on in my city, and I wouldn't let it persist. It was time to step up, and if no one else was going to uncover the truth, then I would.

Besides, maybe I'd be paid lots of money for my detective work.

“You there!” At first I thought the fake cop lady had found me. No, instead it was some grubby looking man in tattered clothing. What a relief. “Gimme all your money! I've got a knife!”

Gimme a break. I'm not interested in being mugged right now.

“Oh, sure. Lemme just get it out of my backpack.” I should be careful, if he sees my laptop, he could steal it and bring it to a pawn shop or something and get cash from it. My laptop's worth way more than whatever they'd give him at a fuckin' pawn shop!

After I pulled out just what he needed, I got up.

“Lookie here, I got a knife, too!” Ah, my trusty knife. Not to brag or anything, but my knife was much prettier and much sharper. Longer, too. So glad I didn't leave it at the bunker. “Now, what you got on you?”

“Uhh...I got a phone.”

“Give it here,” I grunted. “No funny business, either.”

He brought a phone out of his pocket and handed it over.

“Good, good. Now run, before I make a rare steak outta you!”

He ran for it, dropping his knife on the ground. His was just some flimsy pocket knife. I took that too, for good measure. Once he was out of sight, I blinked.

“Wow. I can't believe that actually worked.”

Now that I had a cell phone (even if, as it would turn out, it was one of those pay-as-you-go phones), I was ready to take on whatever sinister forces lurked under the surface.

[roscoesykes]

The Man Comes Around || Wayward Sons

Part 1 /2

Summary: The family sends men to Swynlake in order to remind the Sykes brothers exactly what’s at stake for their disobedience to their father. 

Timestamp: September 9th, 2019. 

Triggers: Violence, fighting, gun use, knife use, graphic injury, torture, blood, death and all the triggers associated with such scenerios. HMU for a safe & simple TL;DR. 

“And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder One of the four beasts saying, ‘Come and see.’ and I saw, and behold a white horse"

@desotosykes

ROSCOE: 

They caught him off guard. 

They caught him completely off guard - and it was only now that Roscoe realized just had complacent he had become. He'd stopped looking over his shoulder. Stopped wondering if people were around the corner. For the first time in a long time, Roscoe had been happy. He had a family that he loved, a brother by his side that was finally falling in love himself - a beautiful wife and a baby boy they loved dearly. Oliver, who he'd slowly but surely been accepting as someone he could learn to call his eldest son. 

God - there was really no describing how fucking happy he really was. So happy, and trying his best to stay out of trouble and that meant for the first time in his life, he wasn't paranoid either. It was almost freeing how amazing that could feel after living a life looking over his shoulder every day. 

It was just a goddamn shame that was what fucked him over now. 

The men that had come for him on his walk home from the Court wasted no time. Before he could even begin to struggle there was a rough punch to his gut that dropped him to his knees - prying hands immediately relieving him of the knife within his boot and the only protection he had, a bag shoved over his face before he could even draw in a breath from the air he'd expelled in a pained grunt. It was only after rough shoves, forceful pulls, harsh comments and a completely disorienting trip that the man had finally been shoved back down to a concrete floor. His palms scratched across the surface as the bag was ripped from his head - replaced instead with fingers that curled aggressively into his hair, ripping his head up from where he was crumpled upon the ground. 

"Keep your mouth shut and we ain't gonna have a problem." A voice hissed behind his ear, Roscoe's breath hitching lightly as he recognized that familiar tint of an accent, bringing forth the urge to struggle within the grip. It was only after a swift punch to his jaw that he stilled again, blood dripping from his lip as he grimaced and tried to relieve the pressure against his scalp. 

What the fuck had he gotten himself into…? 

DESOTO:

When DeSoto had first come to Swynlake his phone had gone off constantly. There was always a litany of texts and calls. Each one the same. Was the job done yet? Had he found Roscoe? What was taking so long? Why aren’t you answering our calls? The boss isn’t happy, we need progress. The last text he’d received had weighed on his conscience for about a month. It was a call to action and a final warning. Either do the job or we’re coming to take care of it.

A week passed by without anything else and DeSoto thought maybe they were bluffing. Another week passed the same and then another. By the time two months had passed, DeSoto was certain that they’d forgotten about him and Roscoe. There were bigger fish to fry. He’d heard through the grapevine about Bill’s appeal meeting. They’d be busy getting ready for that. Had probably been hoping their fearless leader would be let out and back into the fray. 

That was the last that DeSoto had heard. His New York burner has long gone quiet and now sat in the bottom of one of the drawers in the Tipton. 

It was so far from his mind, that as he made his way to Celia’s flat he didn’t think to keep his defenses up. The New Yorker had made the trek more than a few times already and most stayed out of his path. He liked to call the fact he wore a perpetual scowl his people repellent. 

He was only a block or so from Celia’s apartment when his world went dark. Immediately he swung his fist out, connecting with flesh and hearing a satisfying crack as bone broke beneath his fist. Before he had time to pull back for another blind hit, something connected with his cheek and he felt pain flood through him as an iron taste filled his mouth. It disoriented him enough so that whoever was attacking him could wrestle his hands behind his back and land another blow to his head. He swayed on his feet giving them enough opportunity to shove him into what he assumed was a car. The door slammed shut and soon they were moving.

DeSoto lost track of how many turns they made. They hadn’t taken any care in strapping him and his body rocked back and forth dangerously with each sharp turn and hard brake. 

When the blindfold was finally removed, his face swollen and bloody, he found himself in a building. Probably on the outskirts of town if the fact the building seemed to be falling apart was anything to go by. But that didn’t hold his attention for long. Roscoe was in the opposite corner looking just as bad as DeSoto felt. 

“Aye fuckin’ let ‘im go. S’posed t’be my hit,” he spat, trying to hide the fear that suddenly gripped him and made his blood freeze.

ROSCOE: 

Roscoe didn't know what was going on here - and certainly didn't want to find out but he had enough of an inkling to have a clue. He wasn't stupid, after all. There were only so many reasons a gang of thick mixed New York accented men would be holding him down and threatening him. 

And by so many - of course he meant one; his father. 

He'd run for so long and honestly he should have known that this shit would catch up with him. That DeSoto's refusal to kill him would finally bite them in the ass. The family didn't take no as an answer. Nor did they take refusal lightly. Guess he should have been lucky that they hadn't slit his neck so far but it wasn't much reassurance. Not when he heard the scuffle of resistance and movement outside and felt the cool tip of a gun press to the back of his neck. 

Roscoe knew who the hooded man they dragged in was before they even removed the blindfold - Roscoe immediately swallowing back the fear that formed a lump within his throat. Not good. Not good at all. 

A cold laugh fell from someone behind him, the gun shoving tighter against his neck as he hissed in annoyance at the uncomfortable feeling, his gaze catching his brother's with a subtle raise of his brow - a call to action if he wouldn't have already known it was pointless. 

"You'll do well to remember only to speak when spoken to, asshole." The man purred, gesture something towards the man besides DeSoto, who immediately reacted by kicking the older twin down to the floor - a boot heavily planting itself between his shoulder blades. 

"Hey!" Roscoe growled, pushing against the hands forcing him down and hearing the soft click of the safety that stilled him instantly. "Enough." Someone shouted, an unrecognizable asshole coming to stand between them as he regarded them distastefully. 

"Let's not pretend yous both don't know why you're here. After all - my dear DeSoto, if he is your hit then I beg to wonder why he's still fuckin' here?" 

DESOTO:

It took a moment for his eyes to fully adjust. He’d been solely focused on the fact Roscoe was here too and they were going to kill him. Didn’t matter that Bill had made it DeSoto’s punishment to kill his brother. Because he’d gotten complacent and had half assed his job they were both gonna die. Execution style in a dirty abandoned building. 

Made sense it happened as soon as they both were fucking happy.

A grunt came from him as he was kicked to the floor. At first he struggled against the foot, trying to unbalance the asshole that had him pinned. Apparently there’d been a restructuring of goons in the family. These guys were nothin’ like the idiots he and Roscoe had dealt with before everything went down. Either that or somehow they’d gone soft. An option DeSoto didn’t even want to consider. 

Des’ gaze had been fixed on Roscoe, trying his best to convey some sort of apology while he did his best to come up with a plan to get out of there. It looked hopeless but there’d be a chink in their armor somewhere. They couldn’t be strong and completely put together. They weren’t supposed to be that organized.

“I told yous idiots, I was waiting,” he spat out, glaring at the man that had entered the room.  “The whole point was t’make him think he was safe. Yous fucked that up by rushin’. Now get this asshole off of me.” 

ROSCOE: 

A million things were going through his mind. There was nothing he wanted more than to form some kind of plan that could have gotten them both out of here and away from these fucks but he was coming up blank. Fear tinged briefly in the back of his mind as a shaky breath fell from his lips. He could see the look Des was giving him and honestly it almost only made him more nervous - it made him feel like they were nothing short of fucked.

And perhaps they were. 

"We weren't asking for some elaborate plan. You were to do as yous were told and do it quickly." Roscoe heard the man speak, the tone accompanying his words drawing his brows into a furrow. "I do believe we warned you, did we not? Gave yous one last chance before we came to clean up this mess ourselves?" 

Oh no. DeSoto's job was to kill him, right? So.. If they were here to clean up there was no question that by the end of the night him and Des might be nothing more than discarded bodies in the street. 

"Might we remind yous what happens when you don't do as you're told, DeSoto." The stranger (asshole, Roscoe decided) spoke, only a brief moment before the cool metal disappeared from the back of his neck. Intuition only warned him that was a bad sign seconds before his arms were forced behind his back, that grip on his hair finally dropped in favor of hauling the man lightly to his knees. Roscoe's eyes widened slightly as one do the grunts in the corner moved forward, the sickening sound of metal sliding against concrete as he dragged the end of a metal bat against the floor - positioning himself beside the younger twin, bat lifting to hover cruelly over his abdomen. 

"Care to try explaining your failure again? This time with less bullshit?" Head-Asshole requested, trailing off with a small roll of his hand. "Or else." The words were accented by the pressure of the metal bat against his stomach - not nearly as hard as Roscoe knew it could have been, but still enough to drive a pained shout from his lips as he jerked in the grip holding him up - said grip about the only reason he hadn't doubled over completely. 

DESOTO:

Pure panic raced through him as the asshole between him and Roscoe spoke. The chances of them actually getting out of this relatively okay were slim. There was no way that Roscoe was getting out unharmed. Already he could see the way they beat the shit out of the younger Sykes. He’d be dragging his brother out unconscious most likely. If they didn’t flat out kill them. 

But Des wasn’t sure they’d do that. It was Bill’s decision, anyways, to have DeSoto kill his brother. He was making a point. Punishing Des for being related to Roscoe, for being so close to him. Because there was no denying that Bill was convinced his sons were plotting to take over the business. No matter how angry DeSoto got when the accusation was thrown at him, no matter how many times he denied it.

He needed to think. And quick. What was gonna be the best way to get them both out of this? 

In the span of a few seconds the answer snapped into his mind and he shot a look to Roscoe. Trust me it said because shit was definitely about to get sticky. 

“Quickly,” he scoffed, looking up to the asshole from his spot on the ground. Scowling he shook, making it difficult for the man on his back to stay that way. “Get the fuck off me. Yous forget who the fuck I am? M’Bill’s fuckin’ enforcer. His heir. Yous been working for him for what? A year?” 

He spat at the guy until he was let up enough to at least kneel. There was no way they’d let him up or let him have control of his hands but that was fine. He could work with that.

“It ain’t a failure. After what this asshole did?” He nodded his head towards Roscoe, narrowing his eyes and frowning at the other male. “Yous don’t think he deserved t’sweat it out? He betrayed all of us. He ruined fuckin’ everything. Bill’s locked up because of him. His fuckin’ flesh and blood. Yous think that deserves the regular rat treatment? Nah. Fuck that.”

ROSCOE: 

For the record? Roscoe fucking hated this. Not that anyone would like being captured, beat up and threatened, of course, but Roscoe hated more than just that. He hated the fact that these assholes held themselves with the belief they had power. That they were sitting here blaming one twin for not killing another and that he had to sit here and listen to all the wrong he'd done all over again. 

Even with DeSoto's subtle look - the one that told him that it wasn't really what he meant, the words still stung. Or… perhaps that was still just the remnants of the bat to his stomach. 

"Is that… so..?" The man's voice all but purred, amusement evident in his tone - the fuck enjoying watching them suffer. Roscoe shifted uncomfortably, not liking the way gazes were drawn to him in a moment of consideration. "I agree." Lead-fucker finally stated with a small clap of his hands, smiling twisting dangerously upon his features. "Fortunately however - we do believe a year has been enough for you to make him squirm. Especially when you switched gears to, as you said 'make him feel safe'." A snap of fingers and once again that bat made contact with his body - not upon his stomach but lower, in the middle of his thighs with a much harder swing. Another yell of pain ripped from his mouth, despite his attempt to bite down on it, the hit repeated once more as Roscoe swallowed back bile. 

It told him something though - they moved to the strongest bone in his body. Moved to bones that were surrounded by layers of fat and muscle to protect them rather than his unprotected organs. They couldn't kill him. Because though the shots were painful (extremely so) they were less so than one to the chest or stomach would be at that power. And yet… they moved, if only because they knew it would kill him otherwise. They were being careful. 

"Come now, DeSoto. The boys and I think you've just gone soft!" A small chorus of instigating laughter followed. "Do you really care about making him suffer? - or do you just care about him?" Roscoe felt himself stiffen as the goon beside him raised the bat - nuzzling it condescendingly against his hair, and he could see the man shoot DeSoto a look. A challenge. 

And in that moment… Roscoe thought he might've been wrong about the not killing thing. 

DESOTO:

The funny thing about this was that a few years ago DeSoto wouldn’t have given beating the shit out of Roscoe a second thought. Hell, he’d done so a few months ago. There had been so much anger and sadness in him over everything it had been easy. The asshole holding onto Roscoe now could have given the bat and he would have gladly taken it and taken a few swings at him.

Now though?

Now the thought made his stomach turn. Bile rose in his throat but he swallowed it back. It was clear now that there was no way they were getting out of there in one piece. His goal now was to get Roscoe out of there alive. Something that looked nearly impossible now as the handle of the bat was shoved in his face. 

“Fuck off. He’s my brother. Course I fuckin’ care about him. I ain’t fuckin’ heartless.” He spat the words at the chooch as he yanked the bat from his hands. “Which means yous questionin’ my loyalty to the fuckin’ family. Who was Bill’s second? Not any’a you fucks. He called all of yous in t’handle me. Ever wonder why he needed more than one?” 

A scoff fell from his lips as he looked at his brother, a decision solidifying itself in his mind. Jesus this was gonna fuckin’ suck. But it was their best option. In one fluid moment he swung the bat, half heartedly, knocking Roscoe in the stomach. He felt the blow in his own stomach, wanting to double over in response. The blow was followed by his fist connecting with Roscoe’s cheek before Des dropped to his knees. 

A hand went to Roscoe’s hair, tugging it harshly as he brought their heads close together. “When I tell yous, duck,” he whispered it as if he was sayin’ his final words to his brother before shoving him away with a frown and standing back up.

“Yous gonna keep questioning my loyalty or yous gonna let me fuckin’ finish this the right way?”

ROSCOE: 

This was gonna blow. That was all he could think as he watched DeSoto speak towards the idiots within the room. None of them looked intimidating by his brothers words and worse off that expression of amusement was still planted on the man in the middle. They were practically just toying with them - pushing and prodding and seeing how far they could go. 

Roscoe swallowed nervously as Des accepted the bat into his hands - it happened before he could even think about it. The apprehension dotting a cool sweat across his brow. Yeah, this was definitely going to blow. 

Roscoe felt his teeth bite down hard into flesh as the bat connected with his stomach once more, trying his damnedest not to make a sound of pain at his brother's action - if only for DeSoto's sake. However the quick cut across his jaw caught him off guard and he knew he'd split his lip with his tooth the second he'd gotten his bearings back about him. The urge to spit the warm blood within his mouth only prevented by the quick and harsh pull at his hair. 

When I tell yous, duck. 

"Fuck yous." He spat quickly in response, letting his head drop down as soon it was free of his brother's iron grip. For their credit - the display seemed natural and none of the men suspected that he'd been told anything more than a whispered threat or last right. Or if they did, they certainly didn't show it - instead offering a few scoffs and growing smirks. 

"Very well. If you so insist, DeSoto. Feel free to show us all the right way to finish this. Please." Roscoe heard the man say, the younger brothers gaze slipping up in an attempt to count the pairs of legs surrounding them. Since… Roscoe had an inkling of what Des might've been planning and… it certainly wasn't going to be subtle at this rate. 

They needed a plan. A plan that included getting the hell out of this situation or to die trying. In order to avoid the latter, they needed to be ready. Blood dripped off his chin, accumulating easily below him as his eyes swept what he could see. Head fuck face. Guy holding his arms. Guy who'd had the bat. Guy who'd been holding Des down. Guy who'd been standing watch beside DeSoto. Five guys. At least. He couldn't see behind him. One gun for sure. 

Two experienced, gang trained, street wise scrappers on their side. Well… - Roscoe shifted in his spot if only to test his mobility, a blinding white pain shooting up his back almost immediately as a grunt sounded between clenched teeth. Great. Make that one scrapper. He was going to be goddamn useless but… Fuck they didn't have a choice. 

… Man - they were so goddamn screwed - and Roscoe supposed he was just going to have to take the option of die trying. 

DESOTO:

These fucks were taunting him. Egging him on. They didn’t know how destructive DeSoto Sykes could be. Didn’t realize the time bomb they were working with. There was a reason DeSoto and Roscoe had been enforcers. Why Roscoe, the smarter of the twins, was paired with his brother. There was a monster that lurked just beneath the surface of DeSoto’s exterior. A dangerous, unnamed creature that reared its ugly head whenever DeSoto’s anger got uncontrollable.

That beast was restless as he watched the men around them. They were cocky, amused. They honestly thought this mission they were on was going to be simple. That they’d be able to take down The Boss’ sons. It pissed DeSoto off more than he could even put into words. The sheer ignorance. The lack of respect.

He growled as he stalked forward, ripping the gun from the other man’s hands. Fucking prick. The oldest Sykes would save him for last. He’d see him crying and pissing his pants before he finished him off; a warning to the rest of the dumbasses back home who thought they could come after them.

Easily he moved to stand behind Roscoe, a cold gleam in his eyes, and positioned the gun. It was scary how naturally the stance came back to him but expected. How many others had been put in the exact same position by him? Taking a breath he cocked the gun and counted. Each man looked on expectantly, waiting for the gun to sound. 

“Duck.”

Before Roscoe had a chance to complete the action DeSoto shot the gun, aiming for the idiot that’d been holding him down. Before the body hit the floor the gun was dropped to Roscoe and DeSoto sprang forward, body colliding with the ring leader. Darkness took over then as his fists collided over and over with the asshole’s face.

ROSCOE: 

Roscoe wasn't going to pretend that he wasn't scared. Even though he knew that DeSoto wasn't going to kill him, he still felt his blood turn to ice in his veins as his brother moved to stand behind him. It only served to remind him of how close this had been to a reality. Of how many times this entire situation crossed his mind in a nightmare. 

His breath even stilled as the gun clocked behind him - drawing out that last bit of courage as he found himself silently praying regardless. He never knew if Des would change his mind in that moment - to remember how much of his life had been fucked up all because of him. 

Duck. 

Roscoe moved before he even fully processed the word, his hands pulled back around to his front as he dropped forward with a sharp pain in his abdomen. Seconds were precious - and the room erupted into chaos within a moment. He heard the clatter of the gun beside him, a hand reaching out to grab it as he used most of his will to flip himself onto his back. 

A shot was fired off - hitting the man who'd been holding him in the chest and dropping him immediately. Before he could get the second round off however, a body was on top of him - a knee landing heavily on his hip as a hand tried to shove the gun away. Ros tried his best to bring his own knee up to topple his opponent quickly before more damage could be done, but he'd still felt the cold slice of a knife against his skin before he'd managed to get the gun situated back under his attacker. 

The report of the pistol felt deafening in his already ringing ears, the splatter of blood from the other man coating him like mist on a summer morning before his body was shoved aside like a ragdoll. 

Trying to waste no time - two more shots rang out, both barely hitting their mark on the goons on their way to stop the brawl between his brother and the man in charge. They weren't fatal - he was sure. But…incapacitated was more than enough for him right now. It was only when he didn't see them move to get up  that the pistol finally dropped from his weakening grip, a pained groan slipping through his lips as his hand instead moved to clutch his abdomen, gaze trying to focus across the room towards his brother - hoping and praying that he was winning his own battles and that he hadn't miscounted the number of guys present. 

He didn't have the strength or will to pick that gun back up if he had.  

DESOTO:

In any other situation, the sound of gunshots would be jarring. In any other situation, however, DeSoto wouldn’t be brawling with an assailant. He’d be by his brother’s side firing his own weapon. But as it was, DeSoto didn’t even hear the gunshots. His rage had taken over and all he could focus on was the guy beneath him. The fucker needed to pay for what he did. And it was DeSoto’s job to ensure he paid. 

All around him was the sound of flesh on flesh. His fists were bloody. Though, he wasn’t sure if that blood was his own or the other guys. It didn’t matter to Des. He hadn’t heard the crunch that he wanted; didn’t feel the asshole stop moving beneath him. That was wait he was waiting for. Why he kept hitting the so called ring leader of this little group. 

A large part of the darkness wanted to treat him how he’d treated Roscoe and DeSoto. It wanted to leave him bloodied and bruised on the floor waiting for death. Only DeSoto would draw it out. This man would wait hours, days, weeks before he got that sweet release. And his death would be painful. It was easy to conjure up different scenarios of how it would go. Each one was more painful than the last and it left a large grin on the Italian’s face as he continued to beat on the man

Finally, with arms that felt like they were made of leaf, DeSoto got the confirmation he wanted. There was one deafening crunch as the man beneath him went limp. Not quite ready to believe the man was dead, Des pinched what was left of his caved in nose and waited for the man to take a gasping breath. When it didn’t come, he peeled himself away from the corpse beneath him. 

Immediately his eyes scanned the room, taking in the bodies strewn around it. Roscoe had killed most while Des had worked the leader over. Later he’d come back and collect personal tokens to send home to New York. The rest he’d burn and dispose of once they were in the clear. 

It was then that his attention turned to his barely conscious brother. “Roe,” his voice sounded like gravel as he stopped down to the younger man. He was pale. A pale they’d never really been. And Des could see the puddle of red seeping from him. Panic kicked in then, pushing the darkness back into its corner, as he shifted to hoist his brother up. “Fuck. Hold on. Fuckin’ hold on.” 

ROSCOE: 

Roscoe could feel the pounding in his ears - his heartbeat a quick and almost unsteady drum that drilled relentlessly into his head. The pain seemed to throb in time with it, growing and shrinking every second as he curled lightly into himself. 

To say he felt like shit would be an understatement - shit not even beginning to cover the way in which his body seemed to be hurting around him. 

A groan served as his brother's only answer to the soft call of his name (or maybe it was loud, he couldn't tell above his heart beat). As long as DeSoto gave him a few moments to gather his bearings he'd be fine… everything would be fine and they could just go home and laugh about this later. 

"—Eugh" Came the pained sound of irritation at being jostled, a hiss slipping from his lips as he leaned heavily into his brother's shoulder. ".. —m'okay, s'okay." He tried to reassure him, his tone only a little garbled, as he tried to press himself up into a proper stand. He didn't realize however how much of a daunting task that was really going to be - every movement tweaking a new flare of pain and a fresh wave of nausea. 

Hand once again found its way towards his stomach, curling tightly along his abdomen as he stumbled in his brother's grip. Shaky fingers pulled at the fabric of his shirt lifting it just enough as his gaze fell to look at the skin resting beneath. It took him far too long to focus, eyes narrowing for far too long before he realized his vision wasn't that fucked up - the skin was just dark red from bruising and… - well actually that wasn't the color of bruising at all. 

"F-f… Fuck. S'not good."

DESOTO:

Adrenaline continued to course through DeSoto’s veins. The darkness was receding but it still lingered on the edges of his vision. It wanted to keep him fighting, to find another person worthy of his anger, but rationality was sinking back in. The need to take care of his brother emerging with each weak word from Roscoe. 

His eyes zeroed in on the skin Roscoe was showing. Fuck. It wasn’t good. There wasn’t going to be getting this patched up at the hotel. They’d have to go to the hospital and that was gonna be enough trouble. Now there were going to be questions. They’d probably want to have the police called in to find out what happened. It was ingrained in them to avoid the fuzz. It only led to more trouble in cases like this.

But— his brother was bleeding out and looking worse each passing second.

“S’fine you stupid fuck,” he huffed, hoisting him up further. They needed to figure out where the fuck they were. How far they were from the fuckin’ hospital. He had a gut feeling that they didn’t have too long. Limping under his own slight injuries and Roscoe’s weight, DeSoto cursed when he got outside and saw where they were at. Too fuckin far from town to make it walking. Ros would be dead before they even got halfway there.

Thankfully, though, Des spotted the vans they’d arrived in. Hobbling over, he tossed Roscoe inside before rushing to the other side and starting it up. “Just fuckin’ stay awake, asshole. Yous ain’t allowed t’die on me.”

ROSCOE: 

Fingers curled tightly into DeSoto's shirt as the man shuffled him up, opposite dropping his shirt back down as his arm wrapped back around his waist. A pained hiss slipped out as he stuttered in his steps again, every movement of his legs just burning at his bones. He had to count himself lucky that his legs weren't broken at least. That he still had some of his wits about him. 

Though slowly but surely that was waning too. 

Doing his best to assist his brother rather than forcing him to deal with his dead weight, Roscoe positioned himself into the van (where this van came from?? He hadn't a goddamn clue) and let his head fall against the window. Now that the present danger was taken care of, he could feel his body slowly coming back to itself - that adrenaline that had rushed his veins, flooding out and replacing numbness with sharp agonizing pain, stiff soreness and more than enough regret to keep him content for years. 

"I'm alright." He tried to say in response to his brother's aggressive concern but the words caught in his throat - a cough stifling them immediately. His chest felt like it was on fire, the tension curling in his stomach and nearly forcing bile into his throat. Gaze caught the small spatter of fresh blood upon his fist and honestly? He couldn't tell if that had simply originated from his split lip or was the source of a far greater problem. 

".... —c-call Rita." Roscoe choked out minutes after he'd gone quiet, the fear starting to find a grip on his consciousness as he felt darkness clawing at his mind. Fighting for control as Ros desperately tried to ignore it, to listen to DeSoto's words. It was only when he felt seconds from blacking out that he jammed his hand against the knife wound in his side - the sudden flare of pain waking his senses as a growled curse of pain fell from him. It sure wasn't fucking ideal but… He needed to stay awake. 

He needed to live. 

DESOTO:

Every few seconds DeSoto’s eyes drifted from the road to his brother. Even though their fight was over, the adrenaline didn’t leave him. Wouldn’t until he was alone and he knew his brother was safe. Or at least being taken care of by qualified people. And even then he didn’t think he’d be able to calm himself. They’d been attacked without warning because they’d let their guards down. Things would have to change. Things would have to be like they were in New York again. But instead of protecting their father, they’d be protecting the people they’d become close to here. 

Already DeSoto knew he’d be calling in favors from those he’d met over the years. He’d make sure they weren’t attacked again. The next time New York tried to come here they’d know the second they took off.

Roscoe’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. Rita. Course he wanted her called. It’d be good, though. She could stay with Roscoe while he went out and took care of their protection. He didn’t like the woman but she could serve a purpose. 

He waited until the groaning stopped, an affirmation from his brother given, before he called the woman. “Shut up. Get to the hospital. Shut up. I’ll tell you when I get there.” Before the woman had a chance to start that high pitched whining again DeSoto hung up and tossed the phone towards the back. He’d have to get a new one. Hell, they’d all have to get new ones. The last thing they needed was to be tracked. 

Tires screeched to a halt as DeSoto finally pulled the van in front of the hospital. Running in, he wasted no time screaming at the people in the front. They gave him worried looks but he waved them off with threats. “Get my brother. Now.”

[mysweetserpentine]

Avalanche 01.

Words: 2900+

Warnings: mentions of death, guns, cursing

A/N: hello again! I’m back with a new project! This is something I’ve had written for a while and it was actually a draft for a fic I started for another fandom. I don’t think I’ve ever really seen Zabdiel written this way so I hope you all enjoy! Give it a like or reblog if you want!

Untucking my knees from my chest, I pulled the crinkled note from my pocket. The ink had been smudged by the countless tears that had fallen onto it.

Miami - Carlos Santacruz

The relentless rain pelted down onto the windows of the bus, blurring the buildings that zipped past. A highway sign reading "Welcome to Miami!" stared back at me.

Slinging my backpack and duffle bag over my shoulders for what I hoped would be the last time, I hopped up into the aisle of the bus. A feeling of nervousness creeped into my chest as the bus rolled to a stop outside a large bus station. Throwing my hood over my head, I ran into the station and made my way to the front desk.

"Excuse me. Do you think you could help me find someone?" I asked quietly.

The old lady looked at me with a bored expression, popping her gum before she spoke. "There's a telephone book over in the corner, knock yourself out."

Defeatedly, I walked over to the phone book and started flipping through the "S" section. I scanned the pages quickly until one caught my eye.

Carlos Santacruz. 1825 Dade Heights. 678-999-8212.

Ripping the page from the spine, I turned and grabbed a small map from a kiosk against the wall. I pushed open the door of the station and started my journey to find the mystery person.

The puddles on the ground blurred as I trekked my way through the streets of Miami. The ripples in the water masked my undoubtedly horrendous reflection. Jumping from bus to bus didn't allow me the time to keep up with my appearance that I once cared so much about.

Being on the run was never my first choice, nor was it a choice that I ever wanted to act upon. I considered it a last resort as the solution to the many problems that seemed to stem from the life my family chose. The life that I never wanted to be a part of.

The little stability that my family still possessed started deteriorating the day my mother passed away. A vicious car accident took her life and no one even batted an eye.

My father, who was already a workaholic, became more invested in his business. He made sure I was only told the bare minimum when it came down to it but I wasn't oblivious. I knew what my father did behind closed doors.

The final straw was when my brother got involved. I can't say I was surprised because I knew that day would eventually come. Jacob was impressionable, strong, and smart which made him perfect material for my father's business. He knew the risks of running inside operations in the business and made sure that I stayed as far away as possible. Jacob had a good heart and always made sure to look after me.

To keep myself from insanity, I occupied myself with superficial friends, designer clothes, expensive makeup, and more boyfriends than I can count on one hand. And it all worked out, up until four nights ago.

Before I knew it, I had arrived at my destination. A street sign reading “Dade Heights” hung above my head. This side of town looked much different than where I had arrived off the bus. A gloomy feeling hung in the air and everything appeared old and run-down.

Stares were thrown my way as I walked through the neighborhood. Intimidation set into my chest as I examined the people sitting outside their house.

"Looks like you've strayed off your path!" a man yelled across the way. He had shaggy brown hair and a jet black leather jacket across his torso. His persona screamed danger and I immediately wanted to turn and run. "So tell me, who are you looking for?"

I pondered for a moment wondering if I should even answer. The smarter side of me told me to keep walking. But the logic part of my brain gave me the realization that I had no idea where or who I was looking for. "I'm looking for a Carlos Santacruz," I replied back.

The man scoffed and started walking towards me slowly. "A Carlos Santacruz," he mocked in a girly tone. "Try the Carlos Santacruz." I hadn't realized how close he had gotten until we were almost standing toe to toe. "What does someone like you need to do with him?" he asked quizzically.

Realizing that I shouldn't have even stopped in the first place, I now had put myself into a compromising position. I held my ground, trying not to show the intimidation that I felt deep in my chest. "I need to see him. Can you tell me where I can find him?" I questioned in a condescending tone.

"Sure. First why don't you tell me what you're doing here. It's rare that we get to see someone like you around -"

"Leave her alone, Ricky!" a female voice shouted, cutting him off abruptly.

I turned around quickly to see a girl with long brown and pink tresses. A similar leather jacket adorning her shoulders like the others.

The man I now knew to be Ricky groaned loudly. "Aw c'mon Reyes! We were just having a little fun with the newbie."

The girl strode towards us, walking up to stand next to me. "Give her a break asshole," she sneered back. Turning to me, she examined me before speaking. "I'm actually headed to see Carlos right now if you want to tag along."

With relief flooding my system, I gave a quick nod and adjusted the hood sitting over my head.

She flashed me a quick smile before speaking. "Alright then. Follow me."

As we started walking away, Ricky yelled behind us. "Will I see you later, Tori?"

"In your dreams, Ricky!" she hissed over her shoulder.

----

The walk to a place called “El Barrio” was short. Tori made small talk to fill the silence, telling me different things about this side of town. She asked me few questions about who I was which I was thankful for.

El Barrio was very similar to a typical bar down in Puerto Rico. People gathered around several pool tables, cheering when someone would hit a pocket. A currently vacant dance floor was situated in the middle of the room. It reminded me of home, something that I now missed.

"C'mon. I'll walk you up to Carlos's office before I get started at work." Tori shouted over the loud music, nodding her head in the direction of a staircase that led to a second floor.

It wasn't until Tori walked ahead of me that I noticed the large logo embroidered onto the back of her jacket. Espadas was written around a large red and black spade logo. Climbing to the top of the stairs, I looked over the balcony at the rest of the patrons in the bar. They too had a similar logo situated on the back of their jackets. What had I gotten myself into? I thought to myself.

Standing in front of a large wooden door, Tori rapped her knuckles against it twice before turning the door knob. With every inch the door opened further, my anxiety seemed to rise.

"Carlos, you have a visitor," Tori announced, peeking through the cracked door.

"Can it wait? I'm in the middle of something important." A deep voice I'm assuming belonged to Carlos asked.

Tori looked over her shoulder at me, as if asking if it could wait. I shook my head quickly before she turned around. "I don't think this can wait," she confirmed loudly.

There was a long pause and a deep sigh before he spoke again. "Alright. Bring them in."

Before I could prepare myself, Tori had pushed the door wide open. I couldn't move even if I wanted to, my feet feeling like they were cemented to the ground.

I got a look at the man I had been searching for, finally being able to put a face to a name. Carlos was tall and radiated power. Scruff littered his face and his hair was combed back into a gentleman's cut.

Realizing that he wasn't alone, I turned to look at the man occupying the chair in front of Carlos's desk. His dark eyes scanned my figure as he looked at me. A similar leather jacket laid over his broad frame. A scowl was set on his face, appearing angry that I had interrupted their meeting.

"Jess?” Carlos asked surprisingly, breaking me out of my thoughts.

Snapping back to reality, I quickly turned towards Carlos "You know who I am?" I questioned.

"Of course I do. Your dad is one of my very good friends," Carlos stated matter of factly. "How did you end up here?" he asked unsure.

I hesitated with my reply. How did I end up here? Where do I even start?

Sensing my hesitation, Carlos spoke again. “Zabdiel why don't you give us some privacy. We can finish this up later," he spoke, turning towards the unnamed male sitting in the room with us.

Zabdiel.

Zabdiel drew in a deep breath before letting it out again, his frustration coming out along with it. He stood to full height and brushed past me, slamming the door as he left.

"Don't worry about him. He can be a bit short-tempered," Carlos excused.

Nodding my head, I took a seat in front of Carlos's desk.

"Well there can't be any good reason that you're here. So why don't you tell me what happened," he started solemnly, rubbing his hands over his face.

"I was sitting downstairs at the safe house in Pasadena when the front window shattered. My brother rushed me upstairs and pulled a backpack and a duffle bag of clothes out from the closet. He said that everything I needed would be in here," I recalled, grabbing my backpack that was over my shoulder. "Once I got far enough away from the house, I got a cab and headed to the bus station. The only thing I had to go off of was this," I said, pulling the note out of my backpack and pushing it towards him on the desk.

Carlos scanned over the note, thinking before he spoke.

“Carajo,” he muttered to himself.

By the look on his face, I could tell that this already difficult situation had just gotten ten times worse. How is one to react when someone shows up looking for you based off of a note with a name?

"Does anyone know you're here?" Carlos questioned.

"No," I answered quickly. "I left through a hidden exit in the safe house undetected. The only person who knows I'm here is you."

Carlos seemed to hesitate before asking his next question. "What about your dad and Jacob?"

I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. Squeezing my eyes shut, I chose my words carefully before speaking. "I don't know. Once I finally got out of the house, I heard lots of yelling and gunshots. Jacob told me not to turn back, no matter what," I said with a quiet voice, opening my eyes that had started to sting with tears.

Carlos took a deep breath before standing. "Okay. Until I can figure out what to do we need to get you to the safe house," he said sternly, walking out from behind the desk to stand next to me. "The others are on a run right now so Zabdiel will have to take you. He's the only other one who knows how to get in."

Carlos led me back down the stairs from his office and onto the main floor of the bar. Stares were thrown my way as I followed behind.

"Zabdiel!" Carlos yelled in the direction of the pool tables.

Zabdiel was leaned over one of the tables, about to make a shot, when Carlos's yell caught him off guard. His cue went right over the ball, causing him to miss his shot. The others snickered around him, causing Zabdiel to throw a glare their way.

"You know, if you're going to ruin my shot, can you give me a heads up first?" Zabdiel sneered, passing his pool cue to a guy next to him. I had this feeling that he was one of the only ones who could speak to Carlos like that.

"I got a job for you," Carlos started, walking towards him to shake his hand.

"I need to you take new blood here over to the safe house. I've got some things I need to figure out," he ordered, nodding his head over his shoulder in my direction.

Zabdiel gave Carlos a confused look "The safe house? Why-"

"I'll explain more later. Meet me back in the office when you get back," Carlos cut him off.

Zabdiel gave a slow nod. "Alright, let's go," he said sharply before heading towards the doors of the bar.

I caught up with Zabdiel, following him out to the parking lot. Not seeing very many cars, I started to wonder how we were getting there. He stopped in front of a shiny black motorcycle, taking one of the helmets off and handing it to me.

"You're joking right?" I asked with a serious tone.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" He replied back with a bored expression.

I looked between the helmet and Zabdiel, debating my options. I had no idea where I was, no place to stay, and no idea what I was doing here. Getting on this bike with him really was my only option.

Snatching the helmet from his outstretched hand, I slid the helmet over my head. "Let's make this quick. I don't want to be on this thing any longer than I have to," I whined.

"Oh don't worry, it'll be quick," he quipped back.

Zabdiel swung his leg over the bike and sat down, kicking the stand up before balancing t the bike out. He slid the other helmet over his head, flicking the mask up to speak.

"You coming?"

Much to my dismay, I anchored my foot on the foot rest and swung my leg over. Situating myself on the seat, I slid right in behind Zabdiel. I tried not to show the fear that I was feeling deep down but with our close proximity, I was sure that he could feel my heart beating out of my chest.

Wrapping my arms around his midsection, Zabdiel cranked the engine to life. Revving the engine a few times, we dashed off towards the safe house.

----

The safe house was small which I expected. I knew my father was smarter than to build a large and elaborate safe house on this side of town. It would draw too much attention.

Zabdiel turned the bike off and walked up the small steps to the front door. He lifted a small panel in the wood exterior and revealed a glowing pad with numbers. After punching in a series of numbers, the door made a loud click. Zabdiel pushed the handle, opening the door and leading the way into the house.

"Make yourself at home. Bedroom is down the hall. Kitchen is through there," he said, pointing towards the living room to our left.

I nodded my head, walking into the living room and looking around. "What is the password to get in? You know, in case I need to get back in," I asked carefully.

Zabdiel hesitated before speaking. "I'll have to make sure with Carlos before I can give you that. It's confidential infor-"

"You mean so confidential that not even Alberto Diaz’s daughter could know?" I cut him off.

A look of surprise crossed his face, letting me know that he hadn't yet figured out who he was talking to.

"And I'm guessing by the look on your face you know who my father is?" I questioned, plopping myself down on one of the couches.

"You're Alberto Diaz’s daughter?" He asked slowly, putting the pieces together as he spoke.

"Unfortunately," I sighed. I pushed myself up from the couch and walked over towards him. "Look. I don't know what business you have with my father, quite frankly I could care less. But if you want to stay alive, I'd get out while you can."

"You don't know anything about me," he said through gritted teeth.

"You're right, I don't. But I do know that I've had to deal with more collateral damage than I would like and I don't need anymore."

Zabdiel stood tall, squinted eyes glaring at me. He turned on his toes, headed towards the front door. "I'll be here to pick you up at eight tomorrow morning. Don't keep me waiting," he ordered before opening the door and slamming it behind him.

I gathered my bags from the floor and trudged to the bedroom. Dropping them down on the bed, I grabbed one of my brother's old t-shirts from the bag and headed to the bathroom.

Turning the shower dial to the hottest it would go, I stripped off my clothes and stepped under the steaming water. The exhaustion that my body had been fighting finally set in. Sliding my back down the wall, I sunk to the bottom of the shower. I felt tears start to prick the backs of my eyes, sliding down my face before I could stop them. Drawing my knees to my chest, I let the sobs rack my body and I realized how fucked up this situation actually was.

What was I going to do?

[politicallycorrectinnocentteen]

How is Loving Parker Like? (ABC Fluff) Part-3

Note- This continues from where the previous one finishes.

=========================================================

He takes a sip of his coffee, as we look expectantly towards him. 

“It’s about time we wrap up.” Vance smiles, “But I promise more soon.” He gets up and goes inside… 

A disappointed groan escapes our lips as we watch Vance vanish behind the doors of his house.

“Some coffee right now would be good…” we ponder as we head towards the only café in Pine Springs. Opening the door, we smile as we come face to face with- 

DANNI… 

“How can I help?” she politely asks.

“Can you tell us some stories of Vance…?” we ask, like a curious kid. She glances at the watch, unsure, and then shrugs. “My shift is off anyway. Let’s talk over a coffee.” She grins.

.

.

.

“So, what do you want to hear?” She asks, as she puts a stray lock of hair behind her ears.

“Something fun.” We sheepishly grin. (…and intelligibly cut the part of how it had to be about Parker and Vance).

“Ok, you got to listen to this.” She has a devilish grin of a prankster as she continues-

 ===========================================================

7. Date…

  Danni was cleaning the counter table with her napkin, when she heard the door open. 

“Vance!” she lights up as she watches him enter the shop smiling faintly at her, only to be followed by-

“PARKER?” She grunted a little. What was office Buzzkill doing here? And more importantly, why is he buzzing around Vance? 

“Vance, why are we here? There are literally thousands of better places to eat.” 

Parker’s ‘encouraging’ whispers were enough to confirm her suspicions. She took a writing pad as an excuse to take orders, as she proceeded to shamelessly eavesdrop the conversation.

“You said that you got a lead about what is this ‘Power’?” Vance said, “I think Danni should also know this.” 

The ‘Power’ card again?

Danni felt the need to punch Parker right on his face. Like...Really?

Last time Parker had something to tell about the ‘Power’ to Vance in private turned out to be some otter making splashing noises in the lake. Previous to that, he mistook Imogen riding horse in woods as the Lake Ghost hee-hawing across the woods and asked Vance to accompany him to a lonely hike to see it himself. It did not take her even a split second to put two and two together once she saw how Parker’s forehead was covered with cold sweats under her intense glare. It was pretty obvious that, he was lying again. 

Now, there are three type of people in the world. The first type of people are angelic innocent. People like Vance, on whom God definitely spent eons sculpturing the fine looks, the kind soul and the irresistible personality. Who deserve all the good things the world has to offer, and those for whom the world would rather die than see them shed a tear. Then, there were people like her, normal guys and girls, knowing some things about hook and crook, pretty much average – but highly deserving. And last type has those who are incredibly dumb, pathetic, moronic and as sad excuse of cops as one ever could be. Those who are good at nothing – who can’t even lie nor have courage to say the truth, and most importantly, those people who should simply get the fuck away from Vance. 

“What’d you like to order?” She sweetly smiled at Vance, watching Parker from the corner of her eyes. 

“Listen Danni!” Vance’s eyes light up as he speaks. Did she tell you how giddy that thing made her feel? The sparkle in his eyes which makes her feel the world as inconsequential and makes her feel as if there exists a part of Vance’s heart which lights up on seeing her and for which- 

“Can you give me a glass of water please?” Parker stressed the last part of his sentence startling Danni and earning a glare from her. 

“Of course, ‘officer’. “She grunted as she turned to leave. 

“Wait! Danni!” Vance stopped her, much to Parker’s horror. “Let’s sit and talk, I think Parker has something important to tell- “ 

“DANNI ASTURIAS? THE LAST TIME I CHECKED YOU WERE PAID TO DO THE JOB AND NOT CHIT CHAT WITH CUSTOMERS.” Her manager’s scream came from behind the counter. She visibly flinched on hearing that and shut her eyes tight. Why did that asshole had to scream when she was in front of Vance?

“I am sorry…” Vance apologized to Danni as she nods understandingly at him.

“Will join you after my shift...” She sighs. As she turned, Parker shoved a napkin onto her hand.

‘Call 1-0-0 and that bastard is dead.’

She watches surprised at Parker who nods, and then smiles. Ok, perhaps the cop wasn’t so bad after all? She smiles a little, and is glad that no matter how much of a catfight she and Parker may do, they are what people call ‘friends’ at the end of the day. 

“Oi.” Parker shouts as she reaches the counter, “Two ice-creams and one pizza here please. Oh! And some coffee as well.”

She froze in horror on hearing Parker as her manager shook his head angrily at her. “Next time, when you chit chat with customers, at least take their orders.” He growled as he went into the kitchen.

Danni felt like ripping Parker’s head off then and there. She turned frustrated at Parker, only to find him returning that usual innocent smile – which meant that the moron had no idea on what he did wrong. 

She sighed as she went on to prepare the coffee. Vance, like a child, liked it sweet and with whipped cream. Parker liked whipped cream as well. She rolled her eyes as she poured some extra whipped cream into Parker’s. Contrary to what one might feel, she is not mean. It’s just that Parker’s idiocy at times puts her off. Actually no, it’s not Parker’s idiocy. It’s the fact that he is stuck to Vance like a bloody leech that makes her want to punch him. How obvious can one make that he is in love? Parker never failed to set a new low in setting that, and she has to admit she herself is surprised that Vance did not realize it yet. Heck, Vance did not even realize her signs, forget realizing Parker’s. Vance was, as she said, too innocent and angelic to even know of such things. She sweetly sighed. 

She picked the ice creams, the pizza and the coffees overflowing with lovely whipped cream (her manager is surely not going to like this…) and took it down to the table with a smile. Vance, took a spoonful of his favourite coffee delight and shoved it in his mouth, humming like a kid. Parker and Danni smiled at that, bathing in the warmth of his smile like a sunbather bathing in sun. Vance had no regards on how he looks when eating it – clearly evident by the moustache of whipped cream above his creamy lips.

Not a good thought ... Danni shook her head as she tried to put her mind off how erotic it’d had been to kiss Vance in such a state.

“Hey Danni,” Parker said in a low voice, “Got some pepper for the pizza?”

She looked at the table, she was definitely sure that all tables had a pepper sprinkler. To her surprise there was none on that table.

“Coming.” She nodded as she turned towards another table which had the pepper sprinkler. Picking it up, she turned around-

…only to find Parker’s hazel irises staring intently at Vance, who merely blinked back in confusion.

And then she noticed it – beneath Parker’s seat, the pepper sprinkler originally belonging to their table – straight and upright.

No… she gasped. That…that couldn’t be possible! The…The police moron outsmarted her? That he hid that pepper beneath his chair so that he could send Danni away and- 

“Vance…” Parker’s voice was husky. “You got cream all over your face.” He involuntarily licked his lips. Danni knew where this was going…she clutched the damned pepper sprinkler tight.

“Hmm…? I guess?” Vance sheepishly grinned, unwary of Parker’s advances. “Let me try to take it off.” Vance said as he ran his thumb over his lips.

“Nopes…” Parker whispered as his face advanced towards Vance. “There is still some cream left…”. Parker’s could feel Vance’s breath on his face now. He stopped to absorb the sight for a moment. He imagined how it’d feel running a hand on those lips he dreamt of kissing in so many encounters they had. He intently watched the small whipped cream at the corner of Vance’s lips – the corner which he could caress with his thumbs for eternity. He could breathe in Vance’s scent – he smelled of perfume and soap, fresh and clean – unlike him who’d constantly smell a little sweaty and a little pungent. And he found it tempting, tempting enough for him to forget the world and just smash his lips over Vance, forbidding them to ever leave. And judging by how Vance was looking into his eyes instead of going away, he was sure Vance liked his acrid scent as well. 

He finally put a thumb on Vance’s lips, slowly moving it to the corner, trying to relish every millimetre of the smooth skin as long as he could. He then cupped his cheek, his thumb finally at the corner where the whipped cream lay. With a slow horizontal glide, Parker wiped it off, his hazel eyes darkening with the thoughts going on in his brain. Although the cream was wiped off, he had no desire to move away his hand, which cupped Vance’s cheek and kept him from going away. He could feel Vance’s cheeks heat up a bit, his breath hitch up a bit, his heartbeat increase a little. Perhaps he realized that this intimacy is clearly not shared between friends? But he made no effort to move, his eyes were stuck to Parker’s which were full of desire and…thoughts.

Has the moment finally come?

Parker felt that Vance within his reach for once. He felt that if he just pushes himself a little, if he just pulls Vance a little, if he just dares a little – so much as to close the minimal distance between their lips – he would get everything. He again licked his lips, not wanting to pass chance to feel how Vance’s lips would feel after delighting on whipped cream. And with a final resolve, he tilts his head a little, moving his face closer to Vance to –

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“ACCHHOOOOO”

To his horror, he sneezed at Vance’s face.

“ACHHOOOO”

“ACHHOOOOO”

“AAAACHHHHOOOOO”

Parker sneezed loudly – his spit becoming the latest topping on the pizza while a stealthy drop of mucus fell from his nose into his coffee.

Danni, who might have ‘accidentally’ sprinkled pepper over Parker instead of the pizza, burst out laughing as she handed Vance a napkin and asked him to go wash himself in the washroom. And she was definitely content at watching Parker sneeze for next five minutes, and realize that he could not have any of the delicious looking whipped-cream coffee which Danni made. He gave a pleading look to Danni, who merely whipped her braid behind her head and walked away.

“My shift is over.” She laughed, “Which means now we can actually talk about what you have to say about the ‘Power’ together.”

She’d never forget Parker’s horrified face, or his stuttering to Vance afterwards as he struggled to apologize normally given his social awkwardness. What she could forget was, the gibberish nonsense which the embarrassed Parker stuttered as he threw some random gibberish theories at Vance and her explaining that bear steak was source of Lake Ghost’s immense power.

.

.

.

.

.

“LOL” we clutch our stomach, laughing as Danni shows a photograph of Parker’s tomato-red, embarrassed face. “More! More! PLEASE MORE!!”

“Hm…” Danni pretended to think. “Ok, fair enough.” She smiled. “But only if you can convince me to…” She grinned as we gave her a confused look. “Tell me something which would make me tell you another one.”

.

.

.

.

Q. What should be say to Danni to make her reveal more stories?

a) Vance is home alone right now.

b) Parker and Vance are the best couple and she should fuck off.

c) We can put a good word for her in Vance

d) She and Vance definitely make a good couple.

  CHALLENGE- The first part of the fluff focuses on Danni’s perspective, and the latter part (Except the ending) focuses in Parker’s perspective. The challenge is to re-write this fluff with first part focusing on Parker’s perspective and latter part on Danni’s perspective.

ART CHALLENGE - Does this fluff inspire any drawing? I’d personally like to see the scene where Danni watches Parker and Vance with a pepper sprinkler in her hands :p 

   ==========================================================

Credits - A big thanks to ALL the people who reblog and like my fictions. It’s just you guys who keep me going <3. I can’t even describe how much eagerly I wait for a review on them, thinking on if you guys liked them or not!! Requesting you to be equally kind with me here as well <3. Love you all!!

Also, really sorry to @brightpinkpeppercorn - I promised her a fluff but I am sick right now (guess where the sneeze inspiration came from? XD) and I will complete it asap :D. I want that one to be a treat for her <3

  Tag List- @brightpinkpeppercorn​ @pbmychoices​ @zuaovca​ @dumbbrowngirl​ @fluffy-cat-whisper​ @danniseyebrows​ @danni-whatshername​ @danniasturiass​ @sherjules​ @rayssa10-blog​ @flammingred​ @strangelycami​ @griffinsbigdickenergy​ @europeanguy​ @darley1101​ @personthatlovesshippings​

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Drunken Consequences: Part 5

Pairings: Jason Momoa x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, cheating, lying to a spouse.

Word Count: 1,966

A/N: OK so, let it be know that this story was written for ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES! I mean no disrespect to Jason or Lisa what-so-ever, nor do I condone cheating. It’s a story, people.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Kate asked as she watched you fill out paper work to change the name of your business to give her a fresh start and a fighting chance over lunch on the patio of Per Lei with her and Jason the day before you left. You nodded slowly as you signed another paper and slid it toward her to sign as well.

“I don’t have another choice.” You sighed as you signed the last page and set the pen down. You sat back in your chair as she signed the last paper. “You don’t have another choice.”

“And it’s not like this is forever.” Your sister said as she picked up all the forms and put them back into the manilla envelope you had brought them in.

“Exactly.” Jason said as he nodded at you. “And it’s not like you’re getting rid of the company. Just changing the name.” You met his eyes for only a second before looking away so that you didn’t cry and nodded.

“It’s going to guarantee that the holiday accounts we have stay with us while the heat dies down and helps us make sure we line up some for next year as well.” Your sister, who was only 21 years old, looked up at you with tears in her eyes.

“I can’t do this.” She said as she shook her head. You reached over for her hand and squeezed it tight as Jason excused himself to the bathroom. You nodded at her as you both glanced over at Lily when she let out a random screech.

“You can do this.” You said as Lily went back to waving her toy around and laughing at it. “You have been doing this for three years. I was your age when I started this business and I had none of the contacts I have now. You’re three steps in the door and now you just have to tell yourself that you are going to rock this. And I am one phone call away. I’m still going to do the coordinating behind the scenes from Montreal, you’re just gunna be the face of the operation. We’re just switching places for a little while.” You smiled at her and pat her arm as your waiter came over with the check.

“What if I mess this up, though. Like what if I ruin your company.” You huffed as you grabbed your purse from the bottom the stroller and shook your head.

“I doubt you can mess it up any more than I ha-ahhh!!” You lurched to your feet as two glasses of ice cold water were poured over your head. Kate jumped to her feet as well as Lily started to scream from getting wet. “The fuck?!” You looked over as a girl who couldn’t have been older than eighteen glared at you.

“Slut!” She shouted at you as you scrambled to get your daughter out of the puddle of ice water.

“Hey!” Jason shouted as he came running over. “Seriously? Get out of here before I have you arrested for assault.” The girl looked at him, mortified that she had been caught by him and quickly ran off as your boyfriend threw some cash on the table.

“Get me out of this Goddamn country.” You growled as you stripped Lily out of her wet leggings, dress and jacket as Kate scrambled to find a dry blanket.

“Give her here and let’s go.” Jason said as he reached for his baby girl. He tucked her into the loose, white shirt he had on as you and your sister grabbed every thing as quickly as you could. You heard Jason tell the manager that you were fine as you caught a glimpse of your black bra through your now see through white tank top and the white chiffon top you had on.

“Come on, sissy.” Kate said as she draped the blanket over your shoulders and grabbed your stroller for you. Jason pushed her forward in front of you as tears welled in your eyes.

“Kate, go up and get a cab.” She nodded and walked a little faster as Jason put his arm around your shoulder and put his hand on your forehead to cover your face. “You’re OK, ku’uipo. Just keep walking.” You nodded as you held Lily’s blanket over your chest.

“Who does that?” You asked as Jason slowed to a stop at the corner.

“Assholes, that’s who. Give me Lily.” Kate said as she took your arm and pulled you toward the cab. You climbed into the middle as Jason passed off Lily and grabbed the bags from the stroller. You used the blanket as a shield and pulled off your wet shirts. You reached for your baby girl and quickly wrapped her in the blanket as Jason got in the cab on your left. Your sister told the driver your address as you clung to your screaming child as if your life depended on it.

“Let me…” Jason tried as he reached for Lily but you shook your head.

“I need her.” You cried as you buried your face in the top of her head. You felt him put his arm around you so he could pull you into his side and he started softly singing to his girls. Kate rubbed your back as she stared out the window while shaking her head. When the cab pulled up in front of your building, Jason paid the driver and pulled off his shirt. He put it over you and Lily as Kate jumped out to grab the stroller from the trunk.

“I got your shirts.” He said as he snatched them off the ground and scooted out of the cab behind you.

“Can we just go, please?” You begged as Kate held your building’s front door open.

“Two days, my love. Two more days.”

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

“This is a terrible idea.” You mumbled as Jason pulled up the drive way of the house he used to share with Lisa in LA. “You really should have left us at the hotel.”

“Ku’uipo, I have to get this stuff before we go to Canada. And we need to talk to her, together.” You sighed, knowing that he was right, but still hating the fact that he was. You sighed for what felt like the millionth time since you woke up that morning and ran your fingers through your hair again.

You looked back over your shoulder at the mirror that was strapped to the head rest and faced down at your two month old baby girl. A smile pulled at your lips as you watched her suck on her fingers while occasionally watching the couple dangling fairies you had dangling from the handle above her head.

“Still a bad idea.” You mumbled as you turned back around. Your stomach flipped as you looked into the furious eyes of a very scorned woman. “Oh, shit.”

“We’ll be fine. It’s all going to be just fine.” You glanced over at him as he put the car into park and you were grateful that Lisa choose to head toward your boyfriend and not you.

“You have ten minutes.” She snapped as he got out of the car. “And she’s not coming into my house.”

“Lisa, we all need to talk. And I promise you, I’m not leaving her or my daughter in the car.” With a massive eye roll, she turned on her heels and headed into the house as Jason got Lily and the diaper bag out of the back seat. The two of you followed Lisa inside the gorgeous house and as you looked at the photos of the happy family that lived there, your stomach turned. Because of you and the ten pound, one ounce baby girl in the car seat, that was all ruined.

“Say what you wanna say quick. I have shit to do.” Lisa said as she sat down on a chair in the living room. You sat down on the couch Jason gestured to and nervously crossed your legs. No one said a word for nearly a full minute before something in your brain apparently snapped.

“When you came to see me, you asked to talk woman to woman. So it’s my turn, I guess.” Lisa turned her glare toward you but you just pressed on. “I was drunk the night I met Jason. I mean, Gods honest truth, I remember drinking shots of tequila one minute and the next, I was waking up with him in my bed.”

“Not… something I would have started with.” Jason grumbled as he scrubbed his hand over his face.

“I didn’t know he was married. Not that that is any sort of excuse… but I didn’t know. And the moment I found out, I sent him on his way and didn’t look back. Didn’t call, text, e-mail. Didn’t even have or what his phone number. I wanted nothing to do with him. But then I found out I was pregnant. And I had two options. I could either never tell him and deprive my child of having a father or I could tell him.

Now you know the gist of my life story. My dad walked out when I was nine and my mom died when I was eighteen. My sister basically became my daughter in a single day. She is my only family and without me stepping up to be her guardian, she would have grown up in group homes and foster care until she aged out. And I couldn’t do that to my family… just like I couldn’t let the father of my child not have the option of being a father if he wanted to be.

My intention wasn’t to fall in love with him; not by any stretch of the imagination. Because family means the world to me and I knew I’d be breaking one up if I did. But somewhere between talking about my never ending heart burn and figuring out the differences between the unnecessary amount of bottles in the world, I did fall in love. And speaking for myself, I didn’t even realize that I had done it until it was too late.

It was never my intention to destroy your family, I promise you that. And I am so, so sorry that I did. I also know that I have zero right to sit here and talk to you either… but I need you to know that this wasn’t malicious. And Jason… he knows he hurt you and his family. And whether he will admit it or not, when he thinks I’ve fallen asleep, he cries himself to sleep because he hurt you.” You heard Jason mumble ‘seriously’ under his breath but you kept looking at Lisa’s tear filled eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me either. Shit, I would be shocked if you did anytime soon, actually. And I take no offense to it. Just… know that I am sorry.” You finally looked down at your daughter and back up at Jason. “Is there somewhere for me to let her stretch out for a bit while you talk?”

“Put her in the guest bedroom.” Lisa said softly as she wiped the tears off her face. You gave her a weak, tight lipped smile and nodded in thanks as Jason grabbed the car seat and headed  toward a hallway off the living room.

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart.” He said softly as he pushed open a door on his left and gestured you into it. You paused and looked up at him with tears in your eyes and nodded.

“Everyone needs their family. And I just needed her to know it wasn’t our intention to hurt hers.”

[phan-of-the-pen]

I Dare You To Stay: Chapter 6

Hello!!! This chapter is later than I hoped to get it out, but it got much much longer than I planned, and I decided to cut the chapter into two so I could get this chapter out now. Enjoy!

Tags for chapter: fluff, very faint themes of unwanted flirting, protective!phil

Words for chapter: ~4k

Fic Summary: Dan Howell is a barista working a shitty job, frequenting his shitty apartment, and living a shitty existence, hiding his asexuality and going for a PHD in self-depreciation and depression. Phil Lester is a part-time intern, part-time employee at a local weather station, trying to get experience in his field and make a name for himself, while juggling a second job at the nearby Tesco’s to give him some financial breathing room. Their paths were never supposed to meet, but what happens when they do anyways, one rainy day in Manchester?

(ao3!)

<-- Previous chapter Next chapter -->

~~~~~~~~~~

Dan and Jaime had both played hookie and taken off the next day, on Sunday. They ended up going to the movies like they had originally planned the day before, and walked around Manchester after, buying way too many snacks from street vendors and whirling through stores, sometimes purchasing things, sometimes not. Dan ended up with a new jumper and a pair of ripped jeans that actually made his legs look good and not just like he'd robbed his trousers off of a homeless man.

However, Dan couldn't just afford to take days off on his schedule whenever he wanted, and he was right back in that caffeine-saturated building bright and early Monday morning. Jaime wasn't with him—she was scheduled for a later shift and would arrive sometime this afternoon—so it was quieter than normal, and a perfect recreation of last Monday's morning.

Hopefully I won't dance in front of any strangers, then, if this is Last Monday Pt 2.

With that thought, Dan's brain immediately switched to thinking about the downright mysterious man who had found his way, literally, stumbling into Dan's life.

Phil had very obviously been in last Monday, and the Wednesday after, but he had also ended up showing up this past Friday as well, and god, Dan wished that that encounter hadn't happened. He had been in the bathroom only to come back and find Jaime talking with Phil as if they were the closest of old friends, laughing together, Jaime's hand close to her mouth as if she was telling him a secret. Dan still didn't know what they had talked to each other about, but when Jaime went to go "see about something in the back" when she noticed Dan, she had given him a wink. Phil's face had also been flushed, and he had had what Dan could only equate to a slightly embarrassed, slightly pleased smile.

Dan flicked his eyes to the glass door. He had opened the store all of four minutes ago, but there was still a little part of him that was wondering…

Maybe he'll come back today?

Dan wasn't sure if he wanted to get his hopes up, not really. Sure, Phil was entertaining, a really fun guy to be around, the fucking weatherman, mind you, and he was really damn attractive, but Jaime had told him a lot that Phil had been flirting with him, and the thought that Phil wanted a romantic relationship with him turned his stomach. Dan didn't date people because of his horrid-at-best history with significant others, and he really didn't want to have to go into anything like that with Phil. He was content to try a friendship with the guy if it happened, but other than that, sign him the fuck out.

Thankfully, the day didn't start out completely just like last Monday. The shop was anything but dead, and Dan would think that it was a holiday or something with the stream of people that wouldn't stop coming in. It was a bit much for just Dan to manage, and if he hadn't been working for as long as he had as a barista, he was certain that it would have been hell to deal with so many people in such a short time. The good thing was that all of the traffic kept him busy. He was making lattes and espressos and dinks with little foam designs, and before he knew it, time was flying by. It was no longer early morning, but a little past one in the afternoon and the past six-ish hours felt like a blink, but Dan was glad for the lull. He had been on his feet rushing around to fill orders all morning, and it kind of sucked, so Dan just slumped against the counter, exhaling for what seemed like the first time all day.

Dan's stomach grumbled angrily and he pressed his palm to his abdomen, the corner of his lip pulling down. He'd forgotten about breakfast this morning.

He looked around the coffee shop. There were about a half dozen people besides himself, and none of them were paying Dan any attention, nor did they seem like they were going to need his assistance anytime soon.

Dan made himself a coffee because after six hours of non-stop labor he deserved it, and picked out one of the wrapped sandwiches that they sold. He couldn't take a full on lunch break like he may have wanted to because there was no one too cover the store while he ate and took a half an hour to relax, so Dan just dragged a chair up next to the counter and sat down, letting out a deep sigh.

Working a double shift all alone sucked ass, but Dan didn't mind too much in the instance that the only other person who would be able to work a shift like this with him besides Jaime was Steve. And fuck, that guy was an asshole. So really, Dan would take working himself harder than normal then having to subject him to shitty company when he didn't have to.

He ate quicker than normal, the hunger in his stomach multiplying once he started eating. God, he should never skip breakfast. It only fucked him over later. Oh you're hungry? You skipped a meal? Well you better eat twice your weight if you want any chance of feeling full ever again.

Dan's sandwich was gone from his hands before he knew it, so he sipped his coffee, too lazy to get up and grab another. He'd eat something small later when he had a moment while working. The caffeine was starting to work through his system now too, and he could feel a bit of his lost energy coming back.

His break didn't last all that long, though—barely fifteen minutes—before the crowds were back and he had to help his fellow human beings get their caffeine fix.

Over the course of the next hour or so, Dan was back to working just like he had this morning with the amount of people walking into the store. He had to have sold a record amount of coffee for a single day, and he still had several hours left to his shift when Jaime would take over. It was kind of incredible, and if Dan maybe wasn't the one behind the counter, he might have found it a little impressive.

The next lull he had was some time later, at about four-thirty, and once the girl he had just served walked away, Dan had his hand in the opened bag of crisps behind the counter. He was starving and really wished that he had eaten something more than a medium coffee and a small sandwich.

Dan had his face full, mid-chew when someone walked up to the counter. He had the undeniable air of a uni student, a bag slung over his shoulder and wearing some sort of combination of pajamas and street clothes that only broke and in-debt twenty-something university college students would deem acceptable.

Not that Dan really had any room to talk. He looked like a hobo at the best of times as well.

"Hi, could I bother you for another shot of espresso? Or two, actually? I have a late shift tonight that I've got to get to, and I won't be able to study for my test until like, 3AM. I need all of the caffeine I can get right now." he said sheepishly, holding out his drink. Dan raised his eyebrows. He remembered this guy the first time he had served him, and Dan had already put three shots of espresso in initially at his request.

"You sure?" He asked, taking the cup. It was about half empty. "I mean I get it crash studying is pretty important but jeez that sounds like a death wish. Not to mention pretty tasteless."

The guy laughed, a wide smile on his face. He looked a lot nicer when he was smiling. Less glum and like he was about to keel over.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. The sacrifices we take for a degree, huh?" He yawned before he could add anything past that, a hand covering his mouth. "You know what? Make it two, please. You don't have to bother refilling the drink, I'll just take the espresso. Pray for me, I might not make it out of this alive."

Dan snorted as he popped the lid off of the cup and put it under the espresso maker. Two shots. Dan used one of the little straws to mix up the still-steaming contents of the cup. He looked over at the guy standing there, watching Dan work. He had about the same build as Dan did and if just being able to smell the drink seemed to alert Dan's senses, this guy was definitely going to not be sleeping for quite a while. Dan pitied him for the caffeine crash that was going to fuck this guy's ass like a speeding truck. Dan reached out for a new lid for the cup—company policy—but there weren't any more large-sized lids and his hand grazed the bare table-top. Fuck, he must have run out.

"Here, one sec," Dan said, passing the open coffee cup to the guy. Dan dropped down, opening the cabinet under the counter and moving aside. He heard the glass door open, the little bell ringing for the millionth time today, and internally groaned. Can't even get a fucking break.

He came back up, a stack of the little plastic lids in his hands, grabbing one and depositing the rest off to the side where the medium and small lids were. Dan noticed the guy's eyes following his body, and it rolled his stomach and tied it into knots simultaneously, but he tried to ignore it and handed the lid over. The guy clicked it on.

"Do I owe you anything for that..?" He asked. Dan could feel his skin crawling, but he didn't try to kill the friendly smile on his face even if it was strained.

"Nah, no need to pay your executioner," he joked, silently hoping that this guy would go away. He laughed, but Dan didn't, just still choosing to stand there with that god-awful feeling rising in his chest.

"Thanks. My name's Jon, but my friends call me Jonny." He bit his lip, and while Dan might have been oblivious, even he knew that this guy was now flirting with him. He had had his suspicions when he noticed Jon's gaze on his ass, but Dan's hopes that this guy would stop at blind lust were apparently in vain.

Dan gave him a strangled smile. Walk away walk away walk away-

Jon opened his mouth to say something else, but behind him someone cleared his throat. Jon jumped a little, clearly expecting it just as little as Dan had, and gave Dan a nervous smile, but stepped away.

"Sorry, I'll let you get back to work. Maybe I'll see you around, then-" he said, dragging out the 'n' and squinting at the nametag on Dan's shirt, "-Dan."

Jon gave Dan one last toothy grin and a wave, turning on his heel and walking towards the exit. Dan still felt uncomfortable, still had the lump in his chest, still wanted to duck behind the counter and hide, but he tore his gaze away from Jon. Dan had a job to do and apparently Jon's flirting had pissed off the person behind him, so Dan would be better off not adding fuel to that fire. He didn't want to deal with a miserable customer on top of it all.

"Uh, hi how can I-Phil?" Dan sputtered, his eyes going wide as he saw Phil standing there, head turned towards Jon's retreating form, a frown on his face, something fiery in his eye. Phil was the one that was behind Jon? Oh fuck that means he saw him flirting with me. Shit what if he thinks I'm okay with that and he tried something shit shit shi-

Phil's attention flicked to Dan's and god those blue blue eyes were stormy. His shoulders were tense and his face wasn't anywhere close to how open it always was. It was closed off behind what seemed like a brick wall.

In short, Phil looked pissed at best, ready to deck someone at worst.

"I-are you...okay?"

Phil let out a breath—a massive sigh, really—and let his eyes close for a moment. When they opened they weren't as dark, and the lines of his body weren't as sharp, but it still seemed strikingly obvious to Dan that something was up with him.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just, ah, just tired, that's all."

Bullshit. It wasn't even a convincing lie. Dan opened his mouth to call Phil out on it and ask what was really wrong and why he looked like he had just been thirty seconds from fighting someone (that someone who was yet to be determined) but he stopped himself. He and Phil didn't really know each other—not really—and they certainly didn't know each other enough for Dan to call BS, right? That was something that friends did. Were they even friends?

Dan didn't know, and he didn't know if that was a question that someone just asked another person, so he just dropped it, nodding a little robotically and giving a non-committal hum that could mean either "I know exactly what you mean, very relatable" or "we both know you're lying" and decided to let Phil figure it out.

"Okay. Would you, uh, like a coffee?" Dan asked. His voice sounded all wrong in his ears and his entire mind seemed to just be screaming the same thing: Why are you so damn awkward?

And to that, Dan didn't have an answer.

"Yeah, a caramel macchiato, if you wouldn't mind."

And like every other drink he's made today, Dan's hands almost flew on their own accord, but his mind was elsewhere, entirely.

Phil certainly had quite the ability to appear out of nowhere when Dan was the least prepared for dealing with him. No, that wasn't right, that made it sound as if Phil was a problem. And he wasn't, not at all, not even close, he just...was so different. It was as if Dan didn't know how to act around the guy, and could anyone really blame him? Dan's run into him mid-sink into a depressive episode, been caught dancing—which he didn't do—to Muse by the guy, and just now, too, when Dan was uncomfortable as fuck and being flirted with, Phil was there.

And fuck, why did it matter so much to Dan? Why in hell was it apparently important enough for Dan to stress himself over it while he was making Phil's coffee.

Phil looked much more relaxed when Dan handed him the coffee, and the faint smile on his lips was enough to assure Dan that whatever had angered Phil wasn't too bad, if he was smiling already.

"This is probably going to sound weird, but do you not work Sundays?"

Dan looked up from the register where he was ringing up Phil's order. He felt a little bit of heat crawl up his face. Jaime saying he's flirting with you seemed to bounce around in Dan's skull, but he prayed that it didn't show, just letting a little smirk on his face and throwing up the first defense mechanism that he used when he wasn't sure if he was reading a situation wrong: sarcasm and humor.

"You haven't even told me your last name yet but you're asking me for my work schedule?" Dan cocked an eyebrow to make the ruse work. He was still feeling a bit off, and he didn't need Phil to know that.

Phil's eyes went wide and if he had been drinking at the moment, Dan was sure that he would have spit it out.

"What no, no! I didn't—I mean—not like, I-"

Dan laughed and waved away Phil's panic.

"Phil, I'm joking, it's okay. I work everyday except for Saturday, more times than not. Every once in awhile my schedule will get altered or something, but I pretty much am in day in and day out." Dan said, giggling uncontrollably, trying in vain to calm his laughter because frankly, Phil freaking out over possibly offending Dan or something like that was funny as shit.

(and adorable, but that thought didn't even have to be acknowledged by Dan himself)

"Wait a minute, did you come in yesterday to come see me or something?" Dan said, stopping himself. Phil's face went bright red and his eyes went wider, and Dan couldn't help the grin from spreading across his face as Phil tried to find some excuse. He seemed to give up, however, after a moment.

"Uh, yeah, I might have," Phi squeaked out, rubbing the back of his head. He looked like a goddamn little kid admitting to stealing biscuits before dinner for fuck's sake.

Dan didn't really know how to respond to that—did anyone?—so all he did was keep the smile on his face and roll his eyes a little.

"And, it's Lester."

"Excuse me?"

"You mentioned that you didn't know my last name, and it's Lester."

"Oh. Phil Lester. It has a nice ring to it." Dan seemed to be rambling, but he doubted that he could stop himself at this point.

"What about you? Or should I keep think of you as Dan The Guy Who Makes My Coffees?"

"It's Howell." Dan muttered, breaking their eye contact.

"Dan Howell?" Phil asked, a sudden serious glint in his eye. Dan gulped.

"Yeah?" Fuck there goes his anxiety. Off the charts once again.

"Can I have a donut?"

"Oh fuck you!" Dan whined, poking Phil in the shoulder, who was giggling like a mad man, a hand in front of his mouth. "Here I was, thinking you were going to ask me something all serious and all that, and you ask me for a fucking donut? The nerve!"

Phil was laughing hard enough that almost no sound was coming out, and his eyes got all squinty. His hand had dropped away to lay on his chest and Dan could see the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he giggled.

"You should have seen your face!" Phil breathed, and Dan poked him again, but it wasn't with malice. He was smiling himself. Widely, in fact.

This shithead…

When Phil stopped laughing, he looked up back at Dan, a grin splitting his face.

"I hate you." "No you don't. At least, you do a really bad job at showing it, Dan."

"Mhm. You say that like we're friends. True friends would tell each other things like the fact that they're the weatherman, or not try and lowkey stalk them at work, or-"

"Wait a minute, how do you know that I'm the weatherman?"

This time, it was Dan's turn to blush, and he did, heavily, the events of Saturday jumping to the front of his consciousness.

"Saturday I was hanging out with Jaime, and we uh, wanted to know when it would stop raining? So she must have found the local channel, and low and behold you were on it, broadcasting the fucking weather."

Phil blushed, a nervous little laugh bubbling out from his chest.

"I wouldn't give myself that much credit, really. I'm just a part-time unpaid intern part-time employee trying to earn some experience out there and put my name out. I wasn't supposed to actually be telling the weather, but turns out the camera must, ah, love me. At least that's what my boss says."

"Still, Phil, I quite literally choked on a piece of popcorn when you're smiling face just appeared on Jaime's TV with a cloud themed tie."

"You what?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't believe it myself. But there you were, and there I was, like, dying. I should demand compensation for the trauma I've been through."

"What are you going to do, take me to court?"

"Hmm, maybe. You'll hear from my attorney, certainly. Or, probably. I dunno, I've still got to think about what kinds of charges I'm going to press against you. And get an attorney." Dan said, and really, the levels of sarcasm they were single-handedly projecting were astounding.

"Okay, here," Phil said, reaching over and easily picking Dan's phone out of his jeans pocket the sides of his fingers brushing up against the black denim. The action so casual and Phil was so damn confident about it, that Dan just sucked in his breath and watched, open mouthed, as Phil clicked the phone screen on.

"Password?" he asked, turning the phone around. Dan reached out, typed it in, but it was like he was in a daze. Was this really happening?

Phil started typing something, and then snapped a photo of his coffee. He handed Dan his phone back, and bright and new on Dan's screen was a contact titled Phil Lester (is amazing!!). The icon was a picture of the top of Phil's caramel macchiato, only his pale hand visible.

"There you go, let me know when you figure it out, okay? I've got to get to my part-time at Tesco's, but I'll see you around?"

"Uh, yeah. Yes. See you, Phil."

Phil smiled, and Dan smiled back before he even realized he was completing the action. Phil smiled so he smiled back. It was that simple.

He turned and walked away, and Dan's eyes followed his lanky frame the entire time. He watched as Phil opened the door—that tiny bell sounding—and stepped outside. And when Phil passed by the huge floor-to-ceiling window that made up the majority of the one wall and waved to Dan, that big grin still on his face, Dan couldn't help the laugh that spilled from his lips just as much as he couldn't stop his hand waving back.

~~~~~

Twenty minutes later, Dan was serving two girls when he caught sight of a forgotten pastry, pushed off to the side of the counter. It took him a moment, but the dots connected almost simultaneously, and as soon as the two girls were gone, Dan was whipping out his phone, scrolling through his contacts to the newest one. He typed out a message and his thumb hesitated over the send button, but Dan shook his head and pressed it. Too late to go back now.

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

I still havent figured out the charges

but

you forgot ur donut you spork

[Multimedia message]

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

D:

I'm at work rn, what time do you close?

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

um real late, like 10

but my shift's over at 6

so it'll be jaime and some teenager probs

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

:'(((

fiiiiinnnnneeeee

I'll have to pick up my donut later won't I?

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

uh yeah, i guess

or u can come in tomorrow or smth if like

u dont want to be wandering into a coffee

shop at 10 at night

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

what, you would like save the donut or smth?

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

lester if u think if ur coming back tomorrow

im not going to eat this donut u are gravely

mistaken

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

wow dan I cant believe you dan

actually no I can

I've got to get back to work

see you tomorrow?

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

have fun

and yeah i'll still be here in this caffeinated

hell, so, see you, lester

Dan looked up from his phone as a trio walked in, chatting among themselves. He slipped his phone in his pocket (his back pocket this time, thanks a lot Phil) and threw a smile on his face. It was the easiest he had smiled all day.