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nyxoz · 2 years

Note

reader goes to buy weed from eddie but realizes they don’t have the cash and pays eddie in other ways 😉😌

so this took a mind of its own and suddenly i have a 5k fic on my hands... i haven't written smut in a hot minute so please bare with me!!!

Eddie x Reader

reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns

words: 5k

warnings: smut, p in v sex, semi public sex, drugs (weed), swearing.

You heard it from Stacey Carmichael, who heard it from Jackson Sommers, who heard it from Jason Carver that Reefer Rick was back in the clink.

This turned your bad day into an even worse one. Rick was your plug, had been since junior year, and now you were coming into the weekend with no weed.

Rick wouldn’t be your first choice of dealer, firstly he was old, like 40, secondly, he was kind of creepy. But creepy worked in your favour. Rick thought you were smokin’ (his words, not yours) and gave you discounted merch just because he liked seeing your pretty face. He was too much of a stoner to do more than ogle you from his musty stained couch, so that set your mind at ease and let you accept the absolute steal you were getting.

Your mission before the end of lunch was to locate a new hookup. You knew Eddie Munson, the ringleader of the ‘Hellfire Club’ dealt, everyone did. You’re sure even some of the teachers knew. So, as soon as the bell rang for the end of the fourth period, you were the first person out of the classroom.

As you speed walk down the hallway, there’s a note burning a hole in your hand, written in your curly writing; “Reefer’s down for the count, need a new middleman. Picnic table in the woods behind the track field after school.”

You stop in front of a locker with a hellfire sticker on it and look both ways before quickly shoving the piece of paper into the vent cracks and speeding away.

By the time the final bell rings, you’ve already chewed all your nails off in anticipation. You hate meeting new people. Especially new drug dealers. But you’re especially apprehensive about meeting someone like Eddie. He seems like a lot. You’ve watched him jump on tables in the cafeteria, call out the jocks and bullies alike, and seem fearless like the world was his oyster.

You wouldn��t admit it to anyone, but you kind of admire him.

Eddie was courageous. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him, and if he did he did a damn good job of hiding it. What you saw was what you got, and that scared you. You could never be like that, you were ashamed that you weren’t as free as him. What would he think of you? You’re just some nobody senior requesting his presence in the damn woods after school.

But what made you more nervous out of all of it, was how goddamn attractive you found him.

His big doe eyes and cheeky grin caught you off guard every time you stumbled across them. You remember staring at the tattoos you could see peeking out from his shirt and sketching them in the back of your mathematics book during class.

Okay, so, maybe you had a small crush.

Crush aside, you were set on getting some weed and doing it smoothly.

You waited about fifteen minutes after the bell rang to make your way out to the woods. You held onto the straps of your backpack as you hiked through the foliage and towards the old picnic table. As you peeked through the clearing, you saw Eddie sitting at the table drumming his fingers against the wood and looking up at the trees above him.

He looks at you as you come closer and raises his brows in slight surprise before offering a big smile.

“Thought I was being stood up.” He says.

You shrug your bag off and drop it on the table before taking a seat, “Sorry, didn’t want anyone catching me.”

He nods understandingly, “No stress, m’lady, just happy that you’re here.” He extends his hand out, “I’m Eddie.”

You smile a little and extend yours out, you grasp his big hand and feel the callouses on them. You remember that he’s in a band, you saw them perform at the middle school talent show one year. Corroded Coffin. That sounds right.

“I know,” You laugh and introduce yourself.

He laughs back, “Pleasure to meet you.” He retracts his hand and claps them before rubbing them together, “Now! What can little ol’ me do for you on this fine Friday afternoon?”

You bite at your lip to dampen your smile.

“Rick’s gone, as you probably know, and I’m just looking for some weed.”

He stares right into your eyes as you talk, like every word you’re saying is the most important thing on earth. It makes your cheeks warm and you hope he doesn’t notice.

“Rick is gone! Such a shame, looks like he’ll be in the slammer for at least ten months. Idiot got caught jaywalking while carrying a pretty substantial amount of illegal substances on his person.” Eddie explains with wide eyes, “Can you believe that?”

You laugh at his stunned face, “Yeah, Rick is pretty much the ultimate dumbass burnout, so it doesn’t surprise me one bit.”

Eddie laughs at that. That makes you smile no matter how hard you try not to.

“Can I ask, why even go to Rick when you know you’ve got a dealer at school?” Eddie queries.

You shrug and look down at Eddie’s hands, finding staring into his eyes a bit too much.

“Met him at a party at the start of junior year, gave me discounted weed and never stopped so I just stuck with him I guess? I ain’t gonna turn down cheap grass.”

You look back up and Eddie’s lips pout out a bit as he nods.

“Why’d he give it for cheap?”

You shrug again and scrunch your nose, a little embarrassed, “He said, and I quote ‘smokin’ gals like you shouldn’t be paying full price’ which is very nice but also very creepy considering he is old enough to be my father.”

Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, of course he said some dumb shit like that.” He looks at you and then his eyes go wide and his hands come up in defence, “Not that you aren’t like smokin’ or whatever! ‘Cause you are! I mean, wait, not like in a creepy way, like in a normal way. But I-”

You laugh at his floundering, “Eddie!” you giggle, “It’s okay… Thank you.” You smile shyly.

Eddie smiles back with a slight grimace.

There’s a small silence before he clears his throat and reaches out for the metal lunch box sitting on the table. He opens it and you see a few bags filled with weed and also a bag of trail mix. That makes you have to hold in a laugh.

“So, what was Rick charging you?”

“Twenty for a half ounce.”

Eddie looks impressed, “Damn, you were robbing him blind.”

You nod, “I know, and I totally don’t expect you to go that low.”

He shrugs, “Twenties fine with me, I rarely do agree with Rick but he is right. Pretty ladies shouldn’t have to pay full price.” He licks over his bottom lip and smiles sheepishly at you.

You’re pretty sure your cheeks are on fire.

“Thank you, Eddie.”

You reach into your bag and look for your purse only to find it's not there. You pull your bag onto your lap and frantically search every pocket, pulling out books and papers as you go. It’s not there, you don’t have your purse. You must have left it at home. Shit, shit, shit, shit.

“Everything okay?” Eddie asks after a moment.

You bring your thumb up to your lip and try biting at the already-bitten nail. You look up at Eddie, at his worried expression. You take in his big brown eyes and full lips. He licks over them again and you feel your stomach flutter at the movement.

Suddenly as you stare at the spit glossing his pink lips you get an idea.

“Uhm, slight, uh issue,” You mumble through your teeth as you continue to gnaw at your nail, “I don’t have any cash.”

Eddie frowns, “None at all?”

“I forgot my purse at home.”

Eddie’s hand comes up to the lip of his lunch box and he traces his fingers across it, “Maybe we can do this another time then, yeah?”

He goes to close the lid but your hands come out to rest on top of his and stop him. He halts his movements and looks back up at you.

“I can pay another way though?” You ask coyly.

“Uh see, it’s, unfortunately, cash only, sorry, little lady.” He looks regretful but you grip his hands a little tighter.

“I don’t think you’re getting me.” You say. “I can pay another way.”

Eddie frowns in confusion, “I don’t want whatever half-eaten sandwich or weird collectors cards you’ve got.”

“Collectors cards?” You ask.

“You’d be surprised what people try to give me.” He huffs.

You remove your hands from his and bring them to smooth down your hair before keeping them in your lap as you lean over the table, your shirt dropping low to reveal the top of your cleavage. Eddie tries very hard not to look at them but his eyes flicker down for a second before coming back to meet your eyes.

“Let’s call it, quid pro quo?” You murmur in the most flirtatious voice you can muster.

“What, like you write one of my papers or something?” He asks.

You shake your head and stand up. He watches you as you round the table and turns his body fully around to face you when you stand behind him.

You stare at each other in silence before you drop to your knees in front of him, the crackling of leaves sounding when your knees hit the ground. He stares at you with wide eyes and one of his hands comes up to wipe across his mouth and rest on his jaw.

“A different kind of favour.”

Reaching forward, your hands land on his denim-clad knees and slowly slide up his thighs.

He whispers your name. “I don’t think th-”

You cut him off, “Don’t think.”

He lets out a shaky breath as your hands continue to rub up and down his thighs.

“You don’t have to do this.”

You smile sweetly, “I know, I want to.”

“You want to?” He doesn’t sound convinced.

You tilt your head to the side as you look up at him.

“I’ve watched you y’know. During lunch, around campus. You’re fearless and funny. You talk a lot, wondered if maybe…” You trail off and sit a bit higher on your knees, bringing your face closer to his, “Wonder if maybe, you talk a lot during other things.”

“Jesus.” He sighs.

Reaching a hand up, you twirl a strand of his wavy hair around your finger before pushing your hand back into his hair and scratching along his scalp.

“You’d be doing me another favour really. Help me scratch an itch I’ve always had.”

He watches you intently, his big brown eyes boring into yours. You slide your hand out of his hair and down his jaw, down his throat, all the way down his chest and abdomen till your fingers catch the edge of his waistband.

His hand quickly drops down to yours and covers it.

“I just, I don’t know if…” he trails off, not really having anything to say but needing to say something.

“Just give me a yes or no.” You say.

Your hand still on his thigh pushes forward towards his crotch, feeling along his length. His eyes close for a second at the contact making you smile subtly.

You squeeze him through the denim when he doesn’t answer you.

“O-okay. Yeah. Yes.”

You smile and lean up, bringing up your hand that’s on his thigh to hold his cheek.

“I might be willing to blow you for weed but I want you to kiss me first.” You say, “Makes me feel less… cheap?” You shrug a little.

He nods slowly and leans down a little as you extend your neck as far as it goes, he hovers a hair from your lips for a second before pressing forward. His soft lips press against yours in a chaste kiss, he pulls away and you both stare at each other before you lean up again and press your lips against his with some more force. He groans at the contact, both his hands coming up to hold your face.

You lean on your feet and push up slowly, not breaking the kiss as you go to straddle his lap on the picnic table.

One of his hands comes down to your ass, holding you close so as not to fall backwards. He squeezes your ass through your jeans and you break the kiss with a small moan.

“That okay?” He whispers against your lips.

All you do is nod furiously before diving in to capture his lips in another kiss.

Your hands tangle in his hair. His one hand on your face caresses your cheek, a jarring comparison to the strong hand grabbing your bum.

He sucks on your bottom lip, tasting every inch of you.

You moan out as he squeezes your ass once more and Eddie takes the opportunity of your open mouth to sneak his tongue in. He massages his tongue against yours, feeling you pushing against his.

Pulling away, he preppers kisses along your jaw and you angle your head for him to have better access to your neck. He takes the invitation and presses open-mouthed kisses along your throat, sucking and nibbling as he goes. You hope he leaves marks so you have evidence of this tomorrow.

You grind down against his lap and he lets out a moan. You take that as your go-ahead to rock back and forth against him, feeling the hard lie of his cock through both your jeans.

“Fucking Christ, gonna make me come in my pants if you keep doing that.” Eddie says, mouth now tracing the shell of your ear.

The hard seam of your jeans and the feel of his cock pushes perfectly against your clit, creating a pressure so delicious you can feel yourself creating a wet patch in your panties.

You feel the hand on your ass slide up under your top, his calloused hand dancing along the soft skin of your back.

He kisses along your jaw and then just left of your mouth as he brings the hand on your back around to cup your breast over your bra, he squeezes them and your nipples pebble up at the contact. You moan out as you keep rocking in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands are on your ass and breast, mouth now back on yours and you can barely contain another moan.

You start bouncing in his lap a little, realising that as much as you want his dick in your mouth, you think you want it in your pussy just that little bit more.

You pull back from him a bit to make eye contact, “Change of plans.”

He freezes, hands going stiff against your body.

“Wait, not in a bad way!” you reassure him, “Instead of me blowing you, I kinda want to, fuck you?”

He stares at you, his pupils blowing out, making his dark eyes even darker. His lips are red and glossy and his cheeks are bright pink. You relish in the fact you made him look like that.

“Are you asking me if it's okay to fuck me instead of blow me?” He says, astonished.

You nod slowly.

“That doesn’t even need to be a question, yes, oh my god, are you serious? Yes.”

Before you can even respond he’s standing up, lifting you with him and you squeal and wrap your legs around his waist. He walks to the edge of the picnic table, setting you down carefully.

You look up at him and slowly pull your arms away from around his neck and reach down to the hem of your top and swiftly pull it over your head. You sit there with your legs still around his waist, topless, with just a sheer black bra covering your breasts.

He visibly swallows when he looks over you. One of his hands comes up from your waist and his finger traces along the strap of your bra.

“Fuck, princess, look at you.” He says.

His finger hooks over the strap and slowly pulls it down your arm, and he watches as the cup falls to expose your nipple. His fingers trace over your skin, down your chest till his worn fingers slide over the little nub.

You let out a gasp as he moves over it, he watches closely as it puckers out even more, blood rising closer to the surface brightening it.

He wastes no time pulling your other cup down and doing the same to your other nipple. You whimper out soft curses and he tweaks one nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

He chuckles lowly, “You like that huh?”

You nod, your chest rising and falling faster than his, your eyes heavy-lidded.

“Lay back, baby.” He says.

You do as he says and lay back on the table just for him to hover over you, pressing kisses to your jaw. You grasp at his hair as he kisses down your throat and across your chest, before peppering kisses over the swell of your breasts and then taking your nipple into his mouth.

“Oh fuck!” You groan as he sucks and nibbles lightly, hands holding your waist down as you buck up into him.

He moves onto your other breast, giving it soft kisses just as he did the other and then licking at your pebbled nub.

“Eddie,” you paw at his head, “I’m suppos-I’m,” he keeps licking at you and you can’t think straight, “it’s supposed to be me making you feel good.”

Eddie’s head pops up from your chest, a thin line of saliva sticking from your breast to his lip pulls and breaks off onto his chin.

“Oh baby, this is making me feel good. So fucking good, you have no idea.” He reassures you.

You smile at him and lean up on your elbow, “Come here.” You say, using one arm to pull him to you by his neck.

He smiles into the kiss, licking into your mouth. His hands find their way to the button on your jeans and slowly but surely unbuttons and unzips them all the way down.

Fingers coast along your stomach, pressing into the pudge just above your crotch before they sink beneath your underwear.

Eddie’s lips pull away from you the second his fingers slide through your folds. “Goddamn, you’re fucking soaked, sweetheart.”

You moan as he laps up your juices and spreads it around your entrance, before lathering it over your clit in soft slow circles. Your body ignites with electricity, you feel that warmth growing in the depths of your core.

He keeps rubbing at your clit, watching as you wither and moan beneath him.

“Look at me, sweet girl, wanna see those pretty eyes.”

You don’t even realise your eyes have been closed, so caught up in the feel of his fingers. Just as you open your eyes and he works one finger into you and you yell out in shock, eyes wide as you stare up at him.

He laughs at your surprise, face bright and eyes dark. He adds a second finger and keeps fucking you slow and deep, pressing into your walls so perfectly you’re almost afraid of what his cock will feel like inside you if this is what his fingers feel like.

You decide you want to find out.

With your mouth agape, breathing heavily and staring into Eddie’s eyes, you grab at his arm stopping his movements. He watches you carefully as you slowly sit up, never breaking eye contact with him. You reach for his belt, undoing it and unzipping his pants as well, reaching a hand inside his boxers, you scratch through his pubic hair and see him visibly hold back a shiver.

You smile soft and sweet up at him as you take him into your hand and it’s him who breaks eye contact first, letting his eyelids shut as you squeeze at his base and slide a dry hand up his length.

You do a few more strokes before you take your hand out and hold it in front of him, palm up. He opens his eyes to look back at why you’ve stopped and looks down at your hand questioningly.

“Spit.” You say simply.

He huffs out a laugh in slight disbelief at your demand but drops his head down a little to your hand. He looks back up at you quickly before looking back down at your hand and spitting directly on it.

“Good boy.” You mock but see his eyes flash a little. You keep a mental note of that for later.

You reach your hand back into his pants and take him in a strong grip, easily gliding along his velvety shaft.

“Oh god.” He groans, dropping his head forward against your shoulder. He turns his head till he’s breathing into your neck.

You stroke over his cock head, your hand spreading his precum and mixing it with his spit. Your thumb presses on the vein on the underhead, massaging along and he lets out a hot breath against your neck before biting down on your shoulder.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he chants as you continue your torment. “Baby, baby,” he babbles into your skin, “you gotta stop or I’m gonna come before I even get inside you.”

You chuckle and slow your strokes before letting go of him and rubbing your hand up his abdomen under his shirt.

He breathes heavily for a few seconds against you before standing upright and smiling widely.

“Let’s get these off, hmm?” He says.

Reaching for your waist, he pulls at the top of your jeans and begins to pull them down your body, you shuffle up so he can get them over your ass and shimmy them down your legs. Your shoes prove to be an issue so he very ungracefully tries to yank them off your feet, it takes a couple of times and has you holding onto the table to not be dragged off, in a fit of giggles.

He’s smiling too when he gets one jeans leg off and is too preoccupied leaning in to kiss you to pull off the other one, leaving you with your jeans hanging off one ankle.

He’s still fully dressed, besides the unzipped pants. You however are almost completely naked, save for your bra that is flipped over still sitting under your breasts and one pant leg on your ankle. If anyone saw you right now there’s no way to explain yourself out of the situation, you look well and truly fucked.

You keep kissing and touching, slowly making your way down to push his jeans as far as you can get them, just under his asscheeks, and pull out his cock.

Pulling him forward with one hand on his hip, you use your other hand to trace the tip of his dick between your folds, covering him in your slick.

“Jesus,” he sighs out, watching it intently, “Fuck, we need a condom, I don’t-fuck I don’t have one.”

You let go of him and stretch back, reaching for your bag on the other end of the table.

“I got one.” You say.

“You’ve got a condom in your backpack but not your purse?” He laughs.

You fish the condom out of the front pocket and turn back to him. “Sex Ed gives them out for free!” You defend.

“Suuuuure they do, you planned this didn’t you?” He teases, grabbing at the packet.

“Eddie!”

He rips the foil with his teeth and pulls out the condom. “M’kidding.” He chuckles.

With steady hands, he rolls the rubber over his cock and lines up at your entrance. You lay on your back and keep your legs wide, ass just hanging off the edge of the table.

The hand not holding his dick grabs at your hip, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your plump skin.

“You’re sure?” He asks, looking into your eyes.

You nod and he slaps his dick against your folds.

“Use your words, honey.” He says.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Good girl.”

His eyes never leave yours as you feel the thick head of his cock stretching you open. He pushes in inch by inch, watching your reaction with every movement. He’s tense like he’s trying with everything in him not to slam straight into your warmth.

As he bottoms out, you feel the weight of his balls press against your ass.

“Eddie, move, please.” You beg. Feeling him so deep inside you has your walls clenching around him begging for more.

He grabs onto your hips and pulls out slowly before diving in hard, you let out a guttural moan and watch as his smile grows.

“Yeah?” He eggs on another moan.

You nod as he keeps pounding into you, holding tight to your hips, using your love handles as leverage to pull you harder against him.

You feel the white warmth growing in your core, your pussy grips him tight and you feel the remnants of your sex sliding down into your ass crack.

Eddie’s eyes drop to your breasts as they bounce back and forth with each of his thrusts, you watch him and bring up your hands to play with your nipples.

“God that’s so fucking sexy.” Eddie says. His fringe is beginning to stick to his forehead and his hair is swaying with his movements.

You bite your lip to hold in a moan as you tweak your nipple extra hard.

“No, no baby, I wanna hear you, yeah? Wanna hear all those beautiful noises you make for me.”

As he says that he leans forward over you a little, the change in angle creates some friction against your clit. You drop your head back and arch your back to get more contact against it, letting out a long moan.

“There she is!” He laughs.

His thrusts turn faster and the friction intensifies against your clit, that electricity inside you building higher and higher, pushing its way down your core.

You feel so close you can’t help the little yelps you let out each time he drives into you.

“M’so close, Eddie.” You whimper.

“Yeah? You can come, baby, come on my cock, I wanna feel it.”

His chest is heaving and you can tell he’s close too with how erratic his movements are starting to get. It just takes a few seconds of consistent bucking of his hips, pushing against your spongy insides and pelvis rubbing along your clit for you to come hard.

You grip one of his arms tight, the other still holding one of your breasts and let out a loud sob. White heat consumes you, your whole body tensing before it relaxes down into a calm buzz.

Your pussy pulses around his cock, milking any will he had to not come yet.

“God you feel so fucking good,” he keeps babbling down at you, pussy drunk. “I’m gonna come.”

He jackhammers hard and fast into you before collapsing with a few slow thrusts and a deep moan into the valley between your breasts. Your hand comes up and lands on his head, patting over his hair soothingly as he comes down from his high.

You stay like that for a few minutes, him still inside you as you both catch your breath. You begin to swirl his hair around your fingers and breathe in the smell of his shampoo and cologne.

He kisses your chest a few times before he lifts his head slightly, resting his chin against you.

He smiles up at you as you stare down at him with a small smirk. He quickly leans up, pressing his softening cock further into you and kisses your lips gently. You both moan against each other’s lips at his movements.

He smiles down at you and then stands back up before slowly pulling out of you. Your pussy flutters from the loss.

He takes the condom off and ties off the end before sticking it in his jeans pocket and doing up his pants. You go to sit up and pull your bra up over your breasts to cover yourself.

Eddie walks over to grab your shirt and you awkwardly try to get your underwear and pants back on before grabbing your socks and shoes that he threw away.

As you sit down on the wooden seat, ready to put your shoes on, Eddie hands you back your shirt that he’s turned the right way in and smiles a little sheepishly. You smile back up at him and there’s an almost awkward but cute silence as you put your shirt and shoes back on.

You clear your throat when you’re done and stand up, standing directly in front of him.

He looks down at you with his big brown eyes and then raises a hand for a high five. That makes you giggle with uncontrollable laughter and you give him a high five. He grabs at your hand as you do and pulls you against him, his other hand going to hold your face.

“What?” He laughs with you, “That was good sex, it deserved a high five!”

You keep snickering and he smiles down at you while he leans in for a kiss. You laugh against his lips.

After a few more kisses he pulls away and walks over to his lunchbox, grabbing out a bag of weed and throwing it at you. You catch it and look at it for a second before looking back at him.

“Maybe you could help me smoke this, this weekend or something?” You ask.

He smiles brightly at you and it makes his eyes crease.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He replies.

You can’t help mirroring his smile.

“Okay.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #joseph quinn #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #oz writes #oz writes eddie munson #nxyoz

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 3 months

Text

You're Safe Now

Casey Novak x autistic fem!reader Warnings: Hurt/comfort, discussions of past child sexual abuse and child pornography, PTSD, flashbacks, panic attacks, brief and mild self-harm Word Count: 1,799 NOTE: Child sexual abuse/assault is a deeply triggering subject for many people. If you're one of them, please proceed with caution. As a victim myself, I know that, oftentimes, I find great comfort in reading stories that include narratives like mine, especially when they make me feel seen and heard and cared for. At other times, they are terrible for my mental health. Please just be mindful of your mental state as you read, especially if you are a victim. And if you need help, please reach out to the National Sexual Assault Hotline (1-800-656-4673).

Casey looked over Stabler's shoulder as he scrolled through grainy photo after photo. Stills from hundreds of pornographic VHS tapes, all of abused children. "Any of them prosecutable?" Stabler shook his head. "Nah, not on abuse charges. These are all 25 years old. The Feds just want us to look and see if we can make any connections."

"All the same ring?" "Yep. A Baptist church, if you can believe it. Somewhere in Tennessee. Apparently the ringleader moved to the city about 10 years ago. They just nailed him last month." Casey looked disgusted. "I absolutely can believe it was a church. They're like breeding grounds for pedophiles. No offense." Stabler gritted his teeth. "Sunday school teachers. What an introduction to God." They watched the nameless faces scroll past in silence. So many kids, so much hurt. A child flashed past the screen–a little girl with glasses–and Casey blinked. "Stop," she said. Stabler stilled his scrolling and glanced back at the ADA, curious. "Go back." He dutifully scrolled back up the page until Casey stopped him again. She stared at the pixelated photo, sick to her stomach. A little white shirt, a Ramona Quimby-style bob, multicolored glasses. And the cutest nose–your nose. It wasn't you. Surely, it couldn't be you. You would have told her. But the child in the picture looked so much like you. And you had grown up in Tennessee. Going to a Baptist church. Casey cleared her throat, trying to disguise the shakiness in her voice. "Can you print that photo for me?" Stabler looked long and hard at Casey. "Yeah, why?" "Just print it. Please." Stabler handed Casey the printed photo, and she snatched it, folding it tightly and placing it in her pocket. "Thanks," she said, walking swiftly away with her fists clenched. Stabler watched her go, concerned. He made a mental note to mention it to Olivia. _____________________________________________________________ When Casey came through the door that night, you were curled up on the couch watching Parks & Recreation. "Bye, Bye, Little Sebastian" played in the background and you sang along absentmindedly, typing on your laptop. "Hey, love," you called. "I didn't feel like cooking. Want to order a pizza?" Casey set down her briefcase and walked slowly to you, heart pounding in her chest. She sat across from you and paused the show. You looked at her and frowned. She looked terrified. You had never seen her look so scared. You threw your laptop aside and took her hand. "Hey, what's wrong?" you asked. "You look like someone died." Your eyes grew wide. "Did someone die?" Casey took a shaky breath. "Sweetheart, I need to ask you something." Now, you were scared, too. What could Casey possibly need to ask you that made her this anxious? "Okay," you replied, your voice quiet. She took one of your hands in hers and traced circles on it. After an excruciating few minutes, she asked, "Did anything happen to you when you were a kid?" Your stomach dropped and you felt ice flood your veins. There was no way she could know. Nobody knew. "W-what do you mean?" "Were you..." Casey started, clearing her throat. "Were you... abused at all?" You felt panic rising in your chest, your throat constricting as it became harder and harder to take a breath. "Why are you asking me that?" you cried, your voice growing frantic. "Casey, why are you asking me that!?"

Tears threatened the corners of your eyes, and your body started rocking back and forth. You felt like you were suffocating. Casey held onto your hand even tighter, her own eyes glistening, as she pulled the folded paper from her pocket and handed it to you. Your hands shook as you opened it, and when you saw yourself on that page, everything inside you shattered all at once. "No, no, no, no, no!" you cried, grabbing your head in your hands and rocking more and more aggressively. All of a sudden you couldn't breathe. Just like you couldn't breathe in that Sunday school room. Just like you couldn't breathe with in front of that camera with the red blinking light. And the hands. So many hands touching you, all over you. You coughed and retched, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your pupils darted back and forth, overtaking the rest of your eyes. And somehow you were back there, back in that room. The black carpet with the rainbow flecks. The smell of stale hymnals and men's sweat. The taste of the wintergreen mints they shoved in your mouth when they sent you back to your unwitting parents, masking the scent of vomit. You clenched your fists over your ears and slammed them into your head, grabbing your hair and pulling so hard a tuft came out.

Casey jumped up and grabbed your hands, trying to keep them away from your head. "Honey, don't do that," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Please don't do that. I'm right here." She tried to wrap her arms around you, but you shoved her away. "Don't touch me!" You heard yourself screaming, as if from far away, as if you were sitting in the rafters of the Sunday school room, but no one could hear you. "No! Please, it hurts!" Tears streamed down your flaming face as you rocked back and forth, hyperventilating, tucked into the corner of the couch. You were as far away from Casey as you could get. Casey had dealt with a lot of victims. She'd been emotionally invested in a lot of victims. She cared deeply for and fought for so many victims. But you. You were hers. She felt like her heart was being physically ripped apart as she looked at your tiny, terrified form. In that moment, you were a mirror image of the scared little girl in the VHS still. Casey wiped her own tears away, trying to stay strong because you needed someone strong right now. God, she wanted to hold you. She wanted to scoop you up and protect you and tell you that it was okay, that she loved you, that she would never let anyone touch you again. But you wouldn't even let her close. "I'll be right back, sweetheart," Casey said, biting her lip as she looked at you, then jogging to the kitchen. It seemed like you couldn't even hear her. She thought you were having a flashback, but she didn't know how to help you out of it. She dialed Olivia's number and prayed to whatever powers there were in the universe that Olivia would pick up. "Benson."

"Oh, thank god," Casey exhaled.

"Casey? What's going on?"

"Do you know how to get someone out of a flashback?"

Olivia's voice deepened in concern. "Is this about that photo you got from Elliot?"

Casey paced back and forth, rubbing her forehead. "Yes. I don't have time to talk about it now. Do you know how to help with a flashback? Please."

"Uh..." Olivia started, clearly trying to provide information and make sure that Casey was okay. "Usually they need to be reminded of what's real and what's not."

"How?" Casey asked, trying to hide the desperation in her voice.

"Try engaging their senses. Something to shock them out of it. Ice, maybe. Or something with a strong smell."

"Okay, I got it," Casey said, sprinting to the bathroom.

"Casey, are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll talk to you about it later, Olivia," Casey barked, more terse than she meant to be. "Gotta go."

Casey rummaged in the vanity, looking for a specific bottle of perfume. She gripped it tightly in her hand and ran back to the kitchen, grabbing a bag of frozen green beans out of the freezer.

Casey took a deep breath before returning to your corner of the couch, where you sat curled and shaking and sobbing. She reached out to hold your hand, then stopped herself, instead grabbing the bottle of perfume and spraying it around you.

"Hey," she said, tentatively. "Honey, I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm here."

Your body shook uncontrollably, your eyes clamped shut.

"I'm gonna put this ice on you," Casey said. She wasn't sure you could hear her, but she wanted even your subconscious to know that she was there and doing everything she could to help you. She dropped the bag of green beans in your lap and you gasped, your head shooting up. You looked around frantically, and Casey grabbed at the chance to pull you out of the flashback. "Hey," she called. "Y/N, can you hear me?" You seemed to look both at her and past her at the same time. "Do you feel the cold? Honey, that's real. Can you smell my perfume? It's the one you like so much, the one that smells like pine trees. It's real."

You were confused, disoriented, but your frantic breathing was slowing down, and Casey took that as a sign it was working. "I'm right here, sweetheart, okay?" Her voice broke. She was dying to hold you, but she still wasn't sure you'd let her, and she didn't want to make it worse. "I'm right here with you. I love you, and I'm real. We're in our apartment, and that's real. Those men who hurt you, they're not real anymore." You kneaded the bag of green beans in your hands, still rocking, but less aggressively. Your vision was coming back into focus, the overlap of past and present becoming less confusing and overwhelming. You were finally able to look at Casey and see her. You looked into her eyes and a rush of shame poured over you. She looked terrified. Her face was streaked with tears. You didn't know if she was scared of you or scared for you, but either way you felt sick to have scared her.

Your face screwed up in tears and you looked away, burying your head in your hands. "I'm sorry, Casey," you cried. "I'm so sorry."

She surged toward you, her hands stopping inches short of your skin. "It's okay, Y/N, it's okay. I'm right here. Can I touch you?"

You nodded, but you still couldn't bring yourself to look at her.

Casey scooped you into her lap like a child, wrapping her arms protectively around you and cradling your head next to hers.

"I'm sorry, Casey," you said again and again, anxiety and panic and exhaustion giving way to pure shame as you grasped her shirt and wept. "I'm sorry."

Casey had tried. She had tried to hold it together for you, but seeing you so broken, hearing you apologize to her for this horrific thing that had happened to you–it broke her, too. Her tears came all at once. "You don't need to be sorry, honey," she told you, pressing her forehead to yours, your tears mingling. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry. I'm sorry it happened. I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you."

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping snot from your nose. "You're like three years older than me."

She kissed the side of your head over and over, smoothing your wrecked hair and holding you as tight as she could. "You're safe now, Y/N," she said, for both of you, like a mantra. "I will always keep you safe. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

You buried your head under Casey's, making yourself small.

She rubbed your back, breathing slowly and rhythmically. You didn't notice, but yours followed.

Neither of you knew how long you sat like that, but after a while Casey asked, "Am I holding you too tight?"

You shook your head, snaking your arms around her waist. "No. Please don't let go."

"Never," she whispered, her breath hot on your cheek.

#casey novak #casey novak x autistic reader #casey novak one shot #casey novak drabble #hurt/comfort #law and order svu #svu #autistic #neurodivergent #casey novak fanfic #x autistic reader

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portaltothevoid · 6 months

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hypothetically….

what if… there was an enemies to lovers, slow burn, mafia au fic… the ghafia, if you will… starring (dark) copia… what if i discovered the canon fact of copia having a gun… and i took that and ran.

and, hypothetically of course, there was an OC named arianna diodati who’s copia’s (very catholic) rival’s daughter… and he uses her as a bargaining chip to get what he wants…

and, also hypothetically, he becomes hellbent on corrupting her catholic ways….

then what if i told you… this was coming soon, very soon and there’s a teaser below the cut… 👀

and…. maybe…. chapters 1 & 2 of “God Called In Sick Today” can be found right here

trigger warnings for series include (but won’t be limited to): angst, abusive relationship, violence, gun use, kidnapping, blood, religious trauma, corruption kink, eventual smut, enemies to lovers, slow burn, dark romance

~~~~~~

Arianna never liked the Emeritus family. In fact, she borderline hated them with their menacingly painted faces and blasphemous way of life. She never quite understood how they rose to rival that of her family. Perhaps they really did make a deal with the devil.

“I’m going to grab a drink,” she said quietly. Alessio just waved her off, her father already in a passionate discussion regarding something she could care less about.

She made her way to the bar, getting the attention of one of the bartenders. “Your usual, Ms. Diodati?”

“Yes, please,” she smiled.

It wasn’t long until she felt a pair of eyes on her from the other end of the bar. She looked up to see Copia, the ringleader of the Satanic circus, staring her down like a hunter watching its prey. It sent a shiver down her spine, but all he saw was the scowl that encapsulated her face. That only made him smirk at her.

She rolled her eyes in disgust, looking away from him. Out of the corner of her eye, though, when she knew his attention was back on someone that wasn’t her, she couldn’t help herself from taking in his appearance. She hated to admit, he looked… elegant. His burgundy pants were impossibly tight in all the right ways. It pained her to acknowledge the way they perfectly hugged his thighs. He had foregone his suit jacket, leaving just his matching burgundy vest and black dress shirt and tie. His sleeves were rolled up and she could see his muscles flex as he grabbed his drink.

Her eyes lingered for a few seconds too long. This time, he caught her watching him. His mouth curled up again into a sly half-smile as he took a drink. His dichromatic eyes never left her. The instant her drink hit the counter, she brought it to her lips and weaved her way through everyone back to Alessio in hopes of putting distance between her and whatever exchange had just taken place.

~~~~~~

thoughts? if this sounds like something you’d want to dive into… let me know in a comment you want to be added to the tag list!

#fic teaser #copia x oc #copia #papa emeritus iv #papa copia #popia #copia smut #copia angst #mafia au #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost the band #the band ghost fanfiction #copia emeritus #ghost copia #popia copia #papa emeritus 4 #papa emeritus iv x oc

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elizabethemerald · 1 year

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Flying Grason and Circus Gothica DPxDC

AO3

Prompt by @hypewinter ;

Richard Grayson crouched next to one of Gotham’s signature gargoyles, dressed in his Nightwing uniform. He stared down at what had, until just the last week, been an empty lot. Now the lot was filled with the lights and color of a traveling circus. Circus Gothica had come to visit Gotham and Dick’s family wanted to give him a pick-me-up. They had attended the circus, and while Dick had been filled with nostalgia at the displays, he couldn't help a feeling of dread. The tightrope walker… she didn’t seem… The sound of a pair of heavy boots landing on the roof behind him shook him out of his thoughts.

“What are we doing here, Dickard?” Jason, wearing his full Redhood get up, including his helmet, asked from behind him. Dick turned to face his frequently estranged brother for a moment before returning his attention to the circus below them, now long closed for the night.

“We are going to investigate this circus for anything suspicious.” Dick said, keeping his focus on the circus. He heard the rattling noise that he knew came from Jason sighing into his voice modulator.

“I meant, what am I doing here? If you needed to investigate this place why didn’t you call the Brat or the Replacement. Either of the girls would have worked as well.”

“I needed you here.” Dick said. Jason walked up next to him on the other side of the gargoyle. “I knew if I said I have a bad feeling about the circus without proof everyone else, except for maybe Cass would have dismissed me. ‘Oh it’s just the trauma speaking.’ But I know what I saw. The tightrope walker, she wasn’t willing. I think she was being forced to perform, her motions were too mechanical, as if she wasn’t all there.”

“And you needed me over Cass because if they are abusing their performers you’re going to beat them to within an inch of their lives and Cass would have stopped you.” Jason said. “Well if you want to save that girl, I’m here for-”

Jason whirled mid-sentence, drawing both guns from his sides and aiming them at something behind them. Dick turned with him, pulling his escrima as he turned but he couldn’t see whatever it was that Jason had reacted to. Jason stayed focused on a single point in space at the far end of the roof.

“Show yourself!” He barked.

After a few seconds, during which Jason didn’t waver in his focus, someone faded into view. The kid looked like he was eighteen, maybe nineteen, just a year younger than Jason. He had wavy black hair, blue eyes and was wearing a NASA shirt. Total adoption bait, Dick thought to himself. The guy was holding his hands up in surrender and had a desperate look in his eye.

“You two are heroes, right?” He asked, his hands still raised.

Jason and Dick glanced at each other.

“Yeah, we’re heroes. I’m Nightwing, this is Redhood. Why were you spying on us?”

“I heard you talking about the tightrope walker, you’re right she is unwilling. Please, I need you to help me, the ringleader, Freakshow, is using mind control on her.” The boy fell to his knees as he begged. “Please, Ancients, please help me. They’re killing her. Please, they're killing her.”

There was an undeniable desperation in his voice. Dick hesitated for a moment, there was a chance, however slim, that this person was merely a fantastic actor, especially now that the topic of mind-control had been brought up. He was trying to formulate some way to confirm what this person had said other than his own gut feeling when Jason stepped forward, holstering his guns as he did.

“He’s telling the truth.” Jason said.

Well Dick had asked him to come because they were team gut instinct, so might as well trust Jason on this one. He returned his escrima to his back. The boy practically collapsed in relief onto the rooftop, falling to his hands and knees for a moment before he started to rise. Jason helped pull him to his feet.

“Alright, talk. What do you know?” Jason said.

“Freakshow is the alias used by the Ring-leader. He uses a staff to control… people. The staff should have been destroyed.” He practically growled when he said that. Actually, Dick was certain he really did growl, he arched an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. “If the staff is taken from him then he loses control over the… people.”

Dick could hear that the boy was hiding something. Considering the inhuman growl and the slight flash of his eyes, along with the invisibility, he was going to guess that by people, he meant metas. The last thing Gotham needed was mind control focused meta trafficking ring in the city.

“You said they were killing her? How? Why?”

He looked away from them, his eyes flicking side to side as he tried to order his thoughts. He was either coming up with a lie or trying to decide how much information to share with them.

“Ellie… she’s… sick. I have medicine for her. If I can get it to her in time I can save her, but if I get close while Freakshow still has the staff he’ll take control of me. I have some training and some resistance, but it might not be enough. The staff he’s using is ancient, he’s controlled me before but I was able to fight it off. I’m not certain I would be able to do so again, and it’s too much of a risk to try.”

It seemed the boy had decided on a half truth. The girl, Ellie, was certainly unwell, and her life was in more danger with every second that ticked passed, but what she was sick with and what the medicine for her were were unclear. Jason seemed to pick up on that as well.

“We’ll get her out of there. And all the rest of them. But when we’re done we’re going to have a long talk.” Jason growled.

The boy looked up at them, desperation once again shining naked on his face.

“If you save her I will tell you anything I am able to. I promise. Please just save her and bring her to me.”

“We will. We’re heroes. It’s what we do.” Dick said, trying to project all the confidence he could to assure the boy. Speaking of which… “By the way, what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘kid’ in my head.”

“I’m Danny. And I’m not a kid.” Danny had grimaced when Dick had mentioned being a hero, perhaps he had a bad history with heroes? Now he kind of wished he had brought Cass along with him on this venture, she would have been much better at reading this kid. And he was definitely a kid, a teenaged father to an even younger, kidnapped daughter.

“Ok, Danny. Is there anything else you can tell us about this Freakshow?”

Danny pulled a backpack from…somewhere, then rustled around on the inside for a few seconds. He slowly stuck his arm further and further inside until his shoulder was ready to disappear before he pulled back. Certainly the bag wasn’t large enough by itself for him to do that. Dick shot a glance at Jason and he could practically feel the matching raised eyebrow even through Jason’s helmet. Danny finally leaned back and tossed two bracelets to the two heroes.

“I’ve had these built for years just in case, and I’ve been carrying them with me since Ellie was taken. These will keep you safe from Freakshow’s mind control.”

The bracelets weren’t exactly high fashion, but they didn’t look bad. If Dick was going to place a guess, he would say that Danny had modified and improved upon another’s design. That would be something they would have to ask once this was over. Jason grunted in discomfort when he snapped his on.

“If these work so well, how don’t wear one to better resist Freakshow?” Jason had a hint of strain in his voice that Dick couldn’t quite figure out.

Danny reached over as if to grab Dick’s wrist except a spark of toxic green electricity arced off the bracelet to shock Danny’s hand. He gave the bracelet a grim look. Then looked up at them apologetically.

“If only it were that simple. I haven’t been able to find any technological protection from Freakshow’s mind-control that doesn’t also harm me.” Then he turned to Jason, a look of concern on his face. “Speaking of which, it doesn’t hurt you too badly does it?”

Dick was confused by that statement. He hadn’t noticed any pain or discomfort coming from the bracelet he now wore on his wrist. Jason however, waggled his hand back and forth in a so-so gesture.

“It’s not the worst pain I’ve ever experienced.” He said shortly.

“No, I imagine it wouldn’t be.” Danny said as if sharing an inside joke with Jason and considering his snort he apparently got it. Dick hated not being on a joke, but he figured this one he was probably happy not to have personal experience with. Danny’s face settled into a more determined look. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything else to help you, please, just get Ellie out and safe as quickly as possible. Please, I can’t lose her too.”

They nodded and turned together and jumped from the roof. Dick wanted to think more about Danny and his various strangeness, but he needed to focus on the task at hand. They had a little girl to save.

In the end, stopping Freakshow wasn’t easy, but it also wasn’t nearly as difficult as some of their usual rogues. On the one hand, the performers that Freakshow controlled had powers, something Danny completely failed to mention. They could fly, turn invisible, phase into the ground, even fire off some kind of green energy bolts that reminded Dick far too much of Starfire’s starbolts. On the other hand, none of these powers seemed to be very effective against the two heroes.

The starbolts didn’t do anything more than tickle Dick, and while they seemed to hurt Jason more, the two of them were well used to avoiding incoming fire from their enemies. They were usually dodging bullets, which moved faster, hurt more and were more lethal than the starbolts, so the performers were mostly useless at range.

Up close whatever shield Danny had given them kept the performers from touching them, each of them falling back with arcs of electricity jumping between their fingers. It helped that under Freakshow’s control the performers just kept trying to jump or fly into them with a full bodied tackle. Any goon in the goonion knew better than to try to just tackle one of the bat clan. Dick guessed it had something to do with the powers the performers demonstrated, but he set it aside as something to ask Danny about once they were out of there.

Just when the two Bats were within sight of Freakshow the lights of the big top came on, including a spotlight focused on the high wire. Freakshow stepped back and gestured with the staff in his hands towards where the lone acrobat, the little girl, Danny’s Ellie, stood balanced on the wire.

“Now, now, little bats! If you take even one step closer a little ghost child will fall to her second death. I’d hate for her to splatter all over the ground of the Big Top!” Freakshow said, with a grin as demented as one of the Joker’s.

Ellie moved slowly across the tightrope. Dick could immediately pick up on that same mechanical, emotionless movement that had first drawn his attention. He could see that she was being controlled now that he had the confirmation. He could also see just how tired she was, she sagged against the control of her body, any part of her that wasn’t actively being controlled by Freakshow drooped as if she wanted to pass out from exhaustion. Dick just hoped that whatever medicine Danny had for his daughter worked.

“I’ve got another idea. Nightwing?” Jason growled the words, his modulator making him sound even more inhuman. Dick glanced at his brother and gave him the subtlest of nods. They moved immediately, perfectly in sync. Jason pulled his guns and fired off a few rounds, rubber bullets and all. Dick fired his grapple and rose as the control staff was shot out of Freakshow’s hand.

Ellie came back to herself and wobbled for a second before she slipped off the wire, gravity immediately taking hold of her. For a second, Dick flashed back to another family falling from the peak of the big top. He remembered the feeling of horror that filled him as his parents fell to their death. He couldn’t allow another family to go through that. Not this time. Ellie falls and Dick was there to meet her.

The poor girl shivered and shook in his arms as he carefully lowered the two of them to the ground. Large green tears fell from her eyes and her breath rattled in and out of her chest. She grabbed onto his uniform with desperate fingers and seemed to pass out immediately in his arms. Dick dearly wanted to beat Freakshow into submission for what he had done to her, but she very clearly needed her medicine more. Jason settled for breaking Freakshow’s arm before knocking him out and cuffing him. Surprisingly the rest of Freakshow’s victims had vanished into thin air once the staff left his hands.

Dick carried Ellie back to the rooftop where they had left Danny. The whole time she kept her eyes closed and shook in his arms. Jason carried the staff Freakshow had used, though he held it like it was something foul and offended him personally. Danny had been watching them come and as soon as they were on the roof as well had his arms out for his daughter. Dick handed her off willingly, and Danny almost immediately collapsed to his knees in relief.

“Daddy?” Elllie croaked the word, barely able to open her eyes.

“I’m here, Ellie. I’m here. I’ve got the ecto-dejecto.”

“I tried to fight him.” Her voice was soft and hoarse and hurt Dick just to hear.

“You did amazing, sweety. You were absolutely amazing.”

Danny pulled a syringe out from what looked like his own arm. A syringe filled a green gel that glowed softly. Jason stared at the needle as Danny readied it for Ellie. She tried to shove his hand away, but he moved around her.

“I know you hate it, I know. It’s awful. But you have to take it. Please Ellie, I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

Dick flinched back in horror as Ellie’s hand melted into a similar green goo. The glowing goo fell from her body to the rooftop but she didn’t seem to react, only mewling softly at Danny as he pushed the needle into her chest, close to where her heart would be. Danny pushed down on the plunger and Ellie threw her head back and screamed. Dick had to cover his ears while even Jason with his helmet stumbled back before the force of her scream.

Their horror only increased when her entire body fell apart, glowing chunks splashing onto the roof leaving a pale green pearl in Danny’s hands. The puddles of green flowed up into the pearl until there wasn’t a trace of Ellie left other than the pearl. Danny rocked back and forth as he held the pearl, and whispered quietly to it.

“Please, Ellie. Please. Come back. I was fast enough, please Ellie, just this once, please let me have been fast enough. Please, Ancients, don’t let me lose anyone else. Please, Ellie. Please.”

Danny’s voice was broken with grief and desperation as he begged the little sphere. Dick stepped forward to comfort the grieving father, his own regret heavy in his heart, but Jason’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. The two of them could only watch as Danny begged and begged, still rocking. Only the slow tightening of Jason’s hand on Dick’s shoulder showed his grief and fear rising as well. The three men stared at the little orb in Danny’s hand, two of them hardly daring to breathe as any last remnant of hope faded.

Then, just when Dick was certain he had been too late, a flash of light came from the little sphere. He blinked the light from his eyes and when he could see again he saw Danny clutching a much more lively Ellie to his chest, sobbing in naked relief.

“Oh Daddy! I knew you would come and that stupid jerk would pay.” Ellie cheered, hugging him back just as strong.

“That’s right baby, I’m always going to come for you. I’ll always protect you.” He stood, lifting his daughter easily and turned to show her the two bats. “And these two heroes were the ones who stopped Freakshow and brought you back to me.”

Ellie smiled at them and they couldn’t help but notice that her smile was just a little too wide, and showed just a few too many teeth. Then she seemed to recognize them and they saw actual literal stars in her eyes.

“Oh my gosh! You’re Redhood! You’re Aunt Jazz’s favorite hero!” Jason preened for a moment before Ellie continued. “She says there’s something deeply wrong with your entire family and she wants to study you like a bug. She says all of you need ‘like decades of therapy.’”

Jason and Dick didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended by the kid’s words. And they had both rescued children often enough to know that they were often brilliant mimics and considering the intonation she had used, had probably heard that phrase way too often.

“Now Ellie, be nice. They did rescue after all. Give them a proper thank…” Danny’s voice petered out as he saw the staff that Jason still held in his hands. Ellie happily thanked the two heroes as he glared at the staff, analyzing and examining it, his face twisting with more and more rage.

The staff itself seemed to have been broken before and then sloppily repaired with glowing green and silver technology. It was at this modified portion of the staff that Danny focused his ire. Ellie seemed to notice her father’s fury as her babbling words to the heroes ceased and she turned in his arms to lightly pat her hands on his face. He blinked and looked at her before letting his face relax.

“Daddy, are you ok?”

“Yeah, Daddy’s ok sweetie. This is just something bigger I’m going to have to deal with.”

“Ok.” She hesitated for a moment. “Just promise to be safe, I won’t be able to protect you until I’m bigger.”

“I promise, munchkin.”

Jason quietly cleared his throat. They both hated to disrupt the tender moment, but if this was a larger threat they needed the facts as soon as possible.

“I know, I know. I promised you details.” Danny said as he adjusted how he was carrying Ellie. “This isn’t exactly a topic for the rooftops. Do you have someplace private we can talk? Preferably somewhere I can put the kiddo down for bed after the hard week she’s had?”

Dick and Jason glanced at each other. There were a variety of safe houses and interrogation rooms the Family had available in the area, or the Batcave, but none were exactly the best for putting a potential ally at ease where they could also have a child sleep over. Hell, Dick’s apartment was barely safe for him to sleep, the pile of dishes in his sink practically counted as a biohazard. Well… there was one place… but that meant revealing…

“B’s out of town for the week for that JL thing isn’t he?” Jason asked, clearly having read Dick’s mind. “He’s not here to disapprove.”

“Seems like the perfect place for a conversation.” Dick agreed and turned back to see Danny’s slightly worried glance between the two of them. “How about it Danny? Would you like to ride with the kiddo on one of our motorcycles?”

“Oh, don’t be silly!” Ellie said with a smile. “Aunt Jazz is the one who likes motorcycles. Daddy and I will fly!”

Danny did in fact fly, invisibly and intangibly, with Ellie still in his arms. He followed along in the air over the two bikes as they weaved dangerously in and out of traffic. The two were obviously brothers in so many ways, but their playful daring of each other to push a little faster, to get a little closer to the cars made it even more obvious. Danny couldn’t help the small smile that crept up his face, but speaking of siblings he had to make a call of his own. Jazz answered on the first ring.

“Danny? Did you find her?” Jazz asked, she had been driving herself crazy for the past week trying to find where Ellie had been taken to.

“Yeah, I’ve got her safe and sound-”

“Hi Aunt Jazz!” Ellie interrupted to yell into the earpiece Danny was using. He could practically feel Jazz’s wince at the volume, but they were both used to Ellie’s exuberance.

“Hi Ellie! I’m so glad to hear you’re safe!” Jazz shouted back, making Danny wince this time, but Ellie nodded even though she wasn’t wearing the earpiece and settled back against Danny’s chest. “Talk to me Danny. What happened?”

“Freakshow was controlling her. And a bunch of other ghosts, but I was able to scoop up the rest while the heroes had their backs turned. I’ll be dropping them off in the zone as soon as I can.”

“Heroes? What heroes?”

“I had a little help from Gotham’s beloved Knights. Or at least two of them. They were the ones to take out Freakshow since I couldn’t risk getting closer to him while he held his staff.”

“I thought you broke that staff the last time you faced him.”

“I did. It was fixed.” Danny hesitated for a second before dropping the bomb on her. “It was fixed with Fentontech.”

He could hear the gasp from Jazz at the same time Ellie shivered in fear. Jazz took a steadying breath and Danny could practically see her going through her breathing exercises to control her own panic.

“I guess that problem will need to be dealt with sooner rather than later.”

“Mm. I’m hoping that with the help of the local heroes I won’t have to take care of everything myself, but…”

“Some things are personal.” Jazz finished for him. “I understand Danny.” She took another breath before changing topics, now sounding calm and professional. “Could you stay on the line? Tucker is tracking your location, and I would like to confirm for myself that the two of you are ok.”

“Of course Jazz. Do you want to talk to Ellie?” Danny was already removing the piece from his ear before Jazz could even confirm. Of course Jazz wanted to talk to Ellie. Jazz loved her niece more than oxygen. He slipped the piece into Ellie’s ear so they could talk.

“Hi Aunt Jazz! This is Ellie, I’ve missed you so much!” Ellie started talking excitedly greeting Jazz again as if Danny would just hand his earpiece to anyone.

Danny mentally checked out from their conversation as he stayed flying over the two Bats. His parents had already shared their technology with the GIW making it more dangerous to be a ghost or liminal. Even Jazz had been attacked once by GIW agents, though she had left all the agents with concussions and multiple broken bones once she was done with them.

If they were sharing their technology with other criminals like Freakshow, it was going to be even more dangerous. How long would it take until some of the big rogues get their hands on anti ghost tech? What could someone like the Joker or Luthor do if even the dead aren’t safe from their machinations?

Jason and Dick lead the two ghosts to a large manor on the outskirts of Gotham. Danny eventually recognizes it as Wayne manor. He would have to tell Sam she won their bet on Batman’s secret identity, not that they would ever tell anyone. He and Ellie were welcomed into the house by Alfred, the manor’s butler. The two of them settled in the dining room where Ellie was plied with dinner and dessert after her stressful time with Freakshow. Danny makes a mental note for his daughter to spend time with Aunt Jazz so she can talk things through free of judgment.

The two bat boys joined them shortly out of costume and the rest of the family trickled in throughout the day as their patrols ended. Damian, who was probably the stabby Robin, glared at them as if they were a threat to his family. Danny couldn’t help the thought that he puffed up like an angry cat. Cassandra and Stephanie, Black Bat and Spoiler respectively, worked together to pull Ellie from Danny’s lap to keep her entertained away from the serious discussion that was happening at the table. Timothy, or Red Robin (Yumm!) was on the receiving end of several stern looks from Alfred for having a computer at the dining table but he was taking rapid notes on everything Danny said.

Danny told them as much as he felt comfortable with. About ghosts, and over shadowing, and Infinite Realms. He tried to keep the conversation light and focused just on the simple details until Alfred escorted in Jazz at close to three in the morning.

“Aunt Jazz!” Ellie ran to her and jumped into her arms, Jazz swinging her up into the air easily. As if Ellie had been waiting to be reunited with her family she almost immediately fell asleep in Jazz’s arms. Alfred escorted the two to the guest room he had prepared hours ago.

Once Jazz had returned to the dining room it was time for the serious conversation. The GIW. The Anti-Ecto Act. The very real threat of extermination that every ectoplasm contaminated person now faced, which included more than half the bats currently at the table as well. Promises are made to get the League looking at the laws. Eventually the conversation turns to talking about Danny and Ellie.

“Technically she’s my clone.” Danny confessed. “My fruitloop god-father wanted to make me his perfect son, so he stole my DNA and cloned me. She was unstable for a long time and had to keep coming back for injections. We finally figured out what was going on two years ago.”

Danny rubbed a hand up and down his face as he gathered himself. He always hated that it had taken him so long to understand what she needed.

“Because he’s terrible at biology, he forced her human half to grow at an accelerated rate to match my age, but he couldn’t do the same with her ghost half. The two sides were at war, and it turns out she really was a baby ghost all along, but didn’t have an adult ghost around to be able to depend on. She changed her form to match her actual age, and I’ve been her ghost parent, so I’ve helped steady her core. Until Freakshow came along and stole her away while she still needed me.”

He glared at the table top as the temperature around him plummeted. Freakshow could have killed his little girl. It would have been all too easy and if Dick and Jason hadn’t helped take away his staff, Danny might have been too late. If Freakshow’s actions had led to Ellie’s death there would have been no safe haven for him in this life or the next. Jazz grabbing his hand brought him back before he sent the dining room into the next ice age.

The arrival of the daylight hero, Signal, aka Duke, reminded the lot they should have been asleep hours ago. Jazz and Danny retired to the same guest room Ellie was currently snoring away in. They settled down on either side of the bed from her, cuddling Danny’s daughter in the middle.

“What are we going to do about the Fentons?” Jazz whispered from across Ellie’s still form.

“If they’re helping villains, they’ve crossed a line. I’ll have to deal with them myself.” Danny hesitated for a bit. “I’ll have to wait until Ellie’s stable again, but then would you mind if she stayed with you? You’re family too, even if you don’t have a ghost form, so she should be stable with you too.”

“Of course I will, Danny. You don’t even have to ask.” Jazz said, she hesitated as well. “Are you going to bring them in to serve jail time?”

They had been his parents once. His mom and dad. Jazz still caught herself sometimes referring to them as their parents. But they had crossed too many lines. With Jazz’s childhood, after Danny’s accident, now with Ellie’s health. He took a shaky breath and shook his head.

“Their crimes are against the dead. And the dead are going to come for their due.”

Jazz nodded, small tears shining in her eyes, before she closed them and let the tears fall. The trio fell asleep, a small, strange family, reunited again after so long. Tomorrow would be a new challenge, but eventually they would know peace.

#dp x dc #danny fenton #jazz fenton #danielle fenton #she goes by ellie just like me #dick grayson #jason todd

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yanderes-galore · 5 months

Note

Okay, okay. Request are supposed to be open ! How about more of the Fluffy AU romantic with funtime Foxy? Since I read about funtime Freddy it made me think about them for a few moments . . .

If I was wrong about the request I apologize 😭

About time I did this, huh? I just kept the pairing general like usual but I did lean it a bit more into a romantic light for you. Funtime Foxy is referred to as a male fox in this (He/Him). Weird formatting because Tumblr did not enjoy the length.

Yandere! Fluffy AU! Funtime Foxy Concept

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Gore/Graphic descriptions, Stalking, Clingy behavior, Fear of neglect, Implied monster/human at times, Kidnapping, Forced companionship, Slight violence, Ambiguous ending, Disturbing themes.

First things first, for this version of Funtime Foxy I want to incorporate both variations of his personality.

What I mean by this is his more boisterous ringleader/narcissistic personality in UCN along with the more quiet hunter personality in Sister Location.

I feel Fluffy AU Funtime Foxy would have a combination of these two.

Another thing is this Foxy has no relation to Toy Foxy 1.0 (Mangle) or 2.0 (Just usually called Toy Foxy).

He's in an entirely different set.

Next I feel I should try to at least describe him to you all so you have a description to go off of for reading or drawing.

Like Funtime Freddy, Funtime Foxy has seams all over his body.

Look at the model Funtime Foxy has, every line where a component can open is a seam.

Similar to the bear, certain seams can open to reveal the flesh underneath.

With Foxy it's primarily the seams in the face region, so imagine his jumpscare but the endoskeleton is... well... a skeleton.

In terms of the speaker on him, I never mentioned this on Funtime Freddy as I think I opted to ignore it, but what if these speakers weren't speakers in the AU?

As the funtime line is a failed set of experiments, perhaps these are cybernetic hearts or something like that?

Maybe just Foxy has it in this AU or Freddy does too, either way that is one way to think of it.

You could also just pretend it doesn't exist.

Due to being part of a failed line, Funtime Foxy is kept in the lower levels of the facility.

He has his own cell away from his more volatile bear friend.

Like most Fluffy AU concepts, you are a caretaker/scientist for Foxy.

You are meant to monitor his behavior and continue experimentation on the fox despite him not being a "success".

Failures can still be studied, as Afton says.

Something you note about the white and pink fox is his different... moods?

Most of the time the fox prefers the dark.

Many scientists report the fox sitting alone in the dark of his cell, yellow eyes glaring at anyone who goes by through the reinforced glass window.

Although, I feel the more attention seeking personality appears when you're around.

Most experiments end up attached to their caretaker in some way.

When you turn on the lights and see the foxy uncurl himself, he perks up.

You swear you see his skin quiver as he jumps up to greet you.

The beast has obviously red seams contrasting against his white fur, a hint there's something darker underneath.

When you're around to monitor the fox, he makes an effort to perform.

He was always meant to be a performer.

He shows off that behavior towards those he likes and trusts.

When it comes to this facility, it's often just you.

You often catch his tail sway excitedly as he talks to you.

When with you he's strangely full of himself, telling you he's been waiting to see you again to show you a new performance.

In terms of what these performances are they can be something as simple as attempts to perform agile circus acts.

Or something more devious like an attempt to court you.

Such attempts don't really flatter you, in fact they creep you out.

Foxy may also be playful in nature with you.

Despite not being related to the Toy Foxy attempts, there is one thing they share in common other than appearance. (Mostly with Mangle).

All of them have a thing for their appearance.

This Foxy thinks he's hot stuff and perfect for you, despite the obvious differences between you.

Like most failed experiments you don't get in the cell with Foxy.

Considering how he acts towards you, it probably would not be the safest option anyways.

When Foxy looks towards his caretaker, he feels a connection with you.

He wonders if this is what humans call love and care?

Maybe this connection settles down to a platonic sense of obsession as he is cared for by you?

Or maybe it really does rank up to a strange feeling of romance that he doesn't quite understand.

Things of course don't get bad until the facility crumbles after the Golden Freddy incident.

All experiments end up being released, all lower level failures end up flooding to the upper floors.

Foxy's quiet hunting personality returns once he his free.

Hidden by sirens and circling red lights along with dark spots with broken lights, Foxy keeps hidden.

He isn't interested in meeting up with Freddy for sadistic carnage against those who created him.

Not right now at least, all Foxy cares about is hunting one thing.

You.

Foxy would be hard to spot as the facility fails.

He's pretty good at stealth and may even craw through any small spot to find you.

Once he finds you, it's an eerie sight.

In the red light of alarms you catch sight of the failed beast.

In excitement of you and the hunt, the seams on his face split open.

Like some demented Demogorgon from Stranger Things, the face splits open to reveal a fox-like skull.

You scream and it only seems to set the beast off.

The moment Foxy pounces on you, you can feel his claws excitedly dig into you.

He's finally found you!

His perfect human, all for him to take!

As a result... you're dragged away, deep into the underground of the facility.

Maybe he'll try to escape the lock down of the facility when things calm down.

Right now, he feels his priority is to keep you from the others.

It's about time he shows you the affection he holds for you anyways, isn't it?

#yandere five nights at freddy's #yandere fnaf #yandere fnaf sister location #yandere funtime foxy #yandere fnaf fluffy au #yandere fluffy au funtime foxy

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xlxvesxckx · 11 months

Text

Turbulence [Chapter II]

Synopsis: The Academy was the most prestigious scoop to go to. If you had money, you ruled the school, and if you were poor, you were the stepping stools to the others. And if you're Y/n L/n, your life was going to become a living nightmare.

Pairings: Poly!Ateez x Reader, Original Characters x Reader, Original Characters x Ateez.

This Chapter: Kim Hongjoong x Reader, Slight Kang Yeosang x Reader

Word count: 2.6k words

Au: Academy Au.

Theme; Angst, Yandere.

Chapter Synopsis: After being triggered by some girls, Y/n spends some time with Hongjoong, only to be told not to trust him by the very girls who taunted her. Confused, she dwells on it, wondering if she should let what she heard go, or keep it in her mind for later

Warnings: Bullying(Verbal and Physical), flashbacks, s, obsession, possessiveness, slight suggestive content. It’s a tame chapter..

a/n: I apologize for getting this back to you so late! But i hope you still enjoy it! More at the end!

Here's My KoFi if you'd like to support!

In case you missed the first part :

Turbulence Chapter I

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Chapter II : [New and Old Memories]

You were still in shock, the next couple of days you still thought about it.

How in the hell did you manage to get yourself into this shit. Being best friends and Becoming friends with two of the most popular boys in this academy.

Just your fucking luck.

You sighed as you arrived at school, you didn’t know what the hell you were gonna do.

Youwalk into the school, confused on what you were going to, you ended up bumping into someone.

You fell back on your ass and heard a scoff followed by a couple snickers behind it.

“Oh so this is what the boys have been obsessed over?…”

You looked up to see three girls looking down at you.

It was three girls looking down at you from your position. You recognized them from a few of your classes.

There was Ye Ann, A nursing major who was known around school as the one of the most popular and beautiful girls. You've seen her hanging out with Yeosang and one of his friends.

Next was Yumiko Watanabe. She was an arts major alongside you and Hongjoong, you’ve seen her a lot in class and seen her interacting and laughing/joking around with Hongjoong.

Lastly was the ringleader and the one who pushed you.

Her name was Lola, you didn’t know why she was here attending this school, but you knew she was one to be feared. You’ve seen her intimidating many other girls and even causing them to leave the school for being around anybody she deemed hers.

And now she had her eyes on you.

“Listen up and Listen good bitch.” Lola started walking over to hover over you.

“I don't know what you did to make all the boys so obsessed with you so quickly. But I know they are ours. We already have pasts and. Futures with them and they do not include some poor looking bitch like you.”

"I don't think they'll like a dumb bitch like you..."

"You shouldn't waste your time. Go ahead and fuck right off. They are ours."

With that, Lola turned on her heel, with her two lackeys following closely behind, leaving you to think about what she just said.

You sighed heavily as you slowly got up bad brushed yourself off.

You shouldn’t let this bother you, you went through this before, you could survive it again.

As you brushed yourself off, you felt someone tap your shoulder.

Turning you see a guy you’ve only seen in passing, but know him as one of the members of Ateenagerz.

“Hi, Are you Y/n?”

“Yep, That’s me..”

“Great! I’m Song Mingi! Hongjoong is loooking for you and sent me to come get you, his in one of the private studios.”

You took the time to take in Mingi’s appearance, he had short pink hair and was built like what your old friends would call a dorito. He was built, tall, and seemed like an adorable person. This was far from the personality you thought he would have.

You allow him to take your hand as he led you to the studio. You knew Hongjoong spent too much time in that damn art studio, because it was what he did when he was younger.

——————-

“Hongjoong! It’s time to go home already!!! Hurry up!”

Hongjoong chuckles as he finished his final details on his painting for the day. He stepped away from the canvas as he felt arms wrap around his torso.

“N/n stop, you’re gonna get paint on you!” He heard you giggle behind you before turning around to wrap his arms around you.

Hongjoong placed his forehead against yours for a bit.

“We still on for our sleepover?”

“Duh, that’s why I came to get you! My Mom said it was fine, so I don’t want us to waste any time.”

Hongjoong laughs at your words before leaning down a bit more to place his lips on yours. He holds you close as his lips move against yours.

It was not secret that the two of you were close, but behind closed doors, where no one could see the shared touches and kisses between you two.

And you wanted to keep it that way.

Hongjoong was your little secret, and something you wanted to keep all to yourself.

But alas.

Fate had other plans for you that day.

You cried out in pain as you felt kicks and punches land on your body. Someone had seen you and Hongjoong together, that someone being Yui.

Yui was a girl who was known to be obsessed with Joong. She wanted to be his everything and despised anyone who was close to him.

And you were her target.

"I THOUGHT I TOLD YOUR STUPID ASS HE IS MINE?!"

You cried out as she continued to punch you before pulling you up by your hair.

"Next time you get near him, you're going out in a body bag bitch. "

—————————————————-

"Y/n"

“Y/n?”

"Y/N!!"

You snapped out of your mind as you now found yourself in the large Paint studio, Mingi was long gone from your side, and Hongjoong looked at your head tilted in confusion and concern.

“What were you thinking about?” He asked watching you walk over to him.

You sigh, stopping directly in front of the male. “I was thinking about us.”

"Oh really? What about us?"

You decided not to sugar coat

"About how I was not allowed to be with your. Or else I'd get beat up..."

Hongjoong went quiet before going to grab your hands. “That’s why I called you here. I..” He trails off before locking eyes with you.

"I want to continue what we lost. What we never got to have because of others interfering..."

You looked at him, confused as Hongjoong continued his words.

“I want to continue what we had Y/n, I was so devastated when you left, I felt like I lost a piece of me. I lost what made me happy, I lost my muse…the reason why i breathed and choose to continue on..”

Hongjoong leaned down so that his lips were ghosting over yours.

You give a slight smile, “Who says we ever stopped?…” You say, punctuating your words by placing your lips against his. "Who's stopping us now?.."

Hongjoong let out a small sigh of relief as he wrapped his arms around you. He then pulls one of your legs to wrap around his waist.

He waited a bit for surprising you by lifting you, so you had no choice but to wrap your legs around his waist.

You pulled away slightly to playfully hit him. “Hongjoong! We are in school!” He smirks at your words before leading you over to a couch that was in the room. He had other plans for you, and he seemed he could care less where you were.

It was usually used for the painting models to wait before class started. But Hongjoong seemed that he had other plans for it.

“It’ll be quick 자기야…I’ll be quick…”(jagiya)

You let out a squeak as your back hit the couch, and his lips were soon on yours. You barely had time to react as he placed himself between your legs.

Hongjoong let out a soft groan as he finally held you in his arms.

He had always dreamed of a moment like this. Finally getting his chance to be intimate with you, after months of hoping and praying that you would simply waltz back into his life …And you finally did.

His head dipped down to be in the crook of your neck, you let out a gasp as you felt his lips on your neck, peppering it with kisses as he trailed down.

“My pretty 자기야…all for me..”He chuckles as he leans down to capture your lips again.

You could feel him begin to grind against you earning a desperate whimper from you.

And you were about to say something but heard a loud banging on the studio door.

“Joong! Did you forget about the meeting today?! Hurry up in there, your art projects can wait”

Hongjoong let out an audible groan as he rose up off of you. He rolled his eyes in annoyance. Joong helped you up and went to unlock the door, leaning on the doorframe afterwards.

Two guys that you’ve seen around before walked in. Both were dark haired and around the same height. Ones hair was a bit longer than the other, and one seemed alot more playful with Joon.

“Jeez, captain what was taking you so damned lon- Oh Hello~”

One of the males walked over to you with a sly smirk on his face. “Ah you must be Y/n! Joong talks so much about you.” You feel a blush come across your face.

He held out his hand "I'm Wooyoung, Culinary art's major!" He then points over to San. "That's San he's my best friend. " San have you a polite wave.

"Is nice to see who Captain has been talking about all these years..."

Hongjoong talks about you? And for years to? It must be a lot for some of his closest friends to remember you. Especially after being apart for so long.

“She’s even prettier than you described Hyung.”

"Definitely, a very pretty woman...,"

“Aye, back off you two. No flirting.”

You watched as the three bicker and talk, you stood there awkwardly.

It was weird seeing Hongjoong go from nearly about to claim you as his to a tired dad of two so fast. You decided to give him some space and let them talk amongst themselves.

It made you chuckle, before you gave Hongjoong a wave.

“I’ll catch you later Hongjoong! Just call me!’ You call out and he nods to you, waving back with a dorky smile before turning around to face his friends.

You left the studio and went down the hallway a bit before letting out a squeal of happiness.

Part of you was fucking scared, not only was Hongjoong one of the most popular guys in school. He had a posse of girls obesseed with him and wanted your head on a platter already.

But then again.

Hongjoong only wanted you. Just you.

What could possible go wrong with this equation.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Everything.

Everything could go fucking wrong.

You don’t know how, or why or when. But someone snitched to the Ateenagerz fan club (that’s the name you gave the trio) about how close you and Hongjoong were and your days have been hell ever since.

"I think she fucked him already..."

"Oh my God, such a fucking whore..."

"She's only been her like two months.."

And rumors were beginning to spread, you were doing your best to avoid confrontations

“So you think just because you were ‘friends’ with Hongjoong in Highschool you can waltz in and win him over?”

You sighed as Ye Ann and Lola sat in front of your table. You were studying before your next class as you had a pop quiz and you kinda didn’t want to fail.

You ignored her mostly.

“You think just because he took you in the Studio and made out with you, that you’re special?”

That caught your attention.

You looked up at her in confusion. “How did-‘

Lola leaned close to you with a devious smirk. “I have eyes and ears all over this school” She then leaned back in her seat.

“You aren’t the first Y/n. And you definitely won't be the last one to be underneath him.”

Ye Ann snickered “Maybe he just wanted to fuck his childhood ‘friend’ and knock that off the bucket list.” Lola looked at Ye Ann and then laughed. “Holy shit! You might be right!”

“Maybe he just wanted to get in your pants because he couldn’t before. But i mean, wanting to fuck someone who’s been institutionalized seems like something he would do. He does like them crazy I guess..”

You froze.

How did she know all this information about you?

No one asides from your mother, Hongjoong’s mother and the dean of the school were supposed to know about your past. You tried to block that part of you out.

It was a place you didn’t deserve to be placed in, but because of others at your highschool you were broken,

You can barely remember what happened that day, but you do remember Hongjoong finding you in the classroom and was the one who got teachers to help you.

Everything after that was a blur, you just remember waking up in the hospital, your mom arguing with the principal of the school for allowing the bullying to get this bad.

You shook your head and decided to stand up.

“Look. I don’t like you, and it may seem like I’m picking a fight with you for no reason Y/n.”

You looked over at Lola, who was still leaning back in her chair.

“I’m just warning you, that yea we like Hongjoong and his crew. But they aren’t good people. Don’t let them fool you into to thinking they are knights in shining armor.” She started before leaning forward once again, now standing on her feet.

“They are criminals, they do shady shit, why do you think they practically run the school?”

“Why should I believe you?” Is the first thing to leave your mouth since the start of this conversation. Lola rolls her eyes.

“Fine, don’t believe me, but when you get your heart broken and whine up dead somewhere, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”She laughed at your distrust.

Lola stood up and came around the table to stare you straight in the face.

“You can’t handle them Y/n. It’s best you drop them and-“

“Y/n!”

The three of you look over to see Yeosang standing there with a smile, he hasn’t been at school the past few days and you wondered where your new bestie had gone to.

Yeosang walks over with his hands in his pockets and Lola quickly fixes herself to try and get the males attention.

“Hi Yeo~ Y/n and I wer-“

He ignores her and pulls you into a hug. You freeze at first before slowly returning his hug. Yeosang hums softly before pullling away.

“I missed you so much! My Parents had some things to do and wanted me to tag along, so I had to be away for a while.”

He says looking down at you with a smile. “I hope I didn’t have you eating lunch by yourself…”

You giggle at his comment and shook your head.

“No, I just sat with Hongjoong instead.” He hummed in response before grabbing your hand.

“Well, we better get going before we’re late to our class.” He says, pulling you away from the two girls who simply glared at you in response.

You started to wonder if what Lola was going on about true. That Hongjoong and his group were dangerous and weren’t to be trusted.

You shook your head to rid it of the thought as Yeosang rambled on to you about his day and what all he did,

You just decided to focus on the day, and hopefully what she said would leave your mind.

——————————————

It was the end of the day, and Yeosang was coming into the meeting room, seeing all his friends already sitting in random spots. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Lola and Her friends have been spreading ‘rumors’ about us.”

Wooyoung was the first to speak up, “So? Haven’t we learned that they are just some dick obsessed girls that Hwasa had the mistake of laying down with?” Woo then let out a yelp of pain from being hit with something Seonghwa threw at him.

"Ow!! What did I say wrong? I'm right!"

"Yea, but now is not the time, idiot."

Yeosang shakes his head. “I caught them mid conversation with Y/n.”

That is what peaked everyone’s attention.

Hongjoong stood up from his chair, were he was editing more pictures for his portfolio. “This bitch annoys me…why can’t she get it through her thick skull that none of us want her.”

Jongho, who was usually quiet during these meetings spoke up.

“Probably because San keeps flirting with them…”

“Hey! How else am i supposed to figure out what the hell is going on in the school?” San shot back only to earn a middle finger from the younger male.

Hongjoong let out a long sigh, “Goddammit.” He then slams his hands on his table spooking everyone around him.

“We are going to have to do something, either get rid of the bitch trio, or have Y/n so involved with us that she trusts us.” He then said,e arming hums of acknowledgement.

“Hwa.”

The dark haired male raised his head, “I’m giving you Y/n’s address.”

“You are to go out with her tomorrow. Get her to trust you, and tell her mom that you’re friends with me. That way she’ll trust you to let Y/n go alone with you.”

He turns to the rest of his group. “You guys keep listening out for any other rumors floating around the school.”

He then turned to his computer screen, images of you that he was editing flashed up on the screen.

“I have some work to do.”

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©️ xlxvesxckx - 2023

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I hope you guys enjoyed! I am so sorry that this chapter is so late, life has been kicking me in the ass after moving,

I’m currently in debt and trying to pay it off, but my job is kinda eh and writing so my only avenue of work kinda.

So once again, if you would like to support, just click my KoFi link at. The top of the story, it would mean alot to me and mean that I will be able to create wonderful stories for you all stress free!

Thank you and have a wonderful Morning/Afternoon/Night!

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#evans.works.<3 #Evan writes : [Turbulence]#ateez fanfiction #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez angst #ateez scenarios #ateez #kim hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x reader #kang yeosang x reader #yeosang x reader #poly ateez x reader #yandere ateez x reader #yandere ateez #yandere ateez fanfic #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez x reader smut

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whatsnewalycat · 1 year

Text

Designated Person | Chapter 6

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 6: Present

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Series Summary: When posting bail for Frankie Morales, your former employer and former lover, you unwittingly designate yourself as his third party custodian during his pre-trial release. Your often tumultuous relationship with him is given a new set of rules and put to the test. Can the two of you co-exist peacefully, or will you crash and burn?

Word Count: 9.2k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship and related flashbacks, angst, food, AA meeting, alcoholism, abuse mention, lying, confrontation, crying, mutual masturbation, panty snatchin' (sorry idk what else to call it)

Notes: Hello hello hello! If you want the taglist, spotify playlist, or AO3 link, head on down to the masterlist. I appreciate your patience in waiting for this, thank you so much for reading. Ok love u have fun!

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Tonight, the AA meeting is being held in the conference room of a value hotel.

The three-story venue is ripe with families on vacation and traveling professionals who likely booked their rooms as a cost-saving measure. They certainly didn’t choose to stay here because of its charming features, such as the floating island of dead bugs in the outdoor swimming pool, or the dingy low-pile carpet darkened in high-traffic areas, or the generic, faded landscape portraits in shiny golden frames.

Its conference room is windowless, the only source of light buzzing from long fluorescents overhead, dousing everything in a twitchy, vague sort of green that grips Frankie’s stomach.

Or, maybe it’s just the story he’s listening to that’s making him feel ill.

Maybe a little bit of both, it’s hard to tell.

“She had her heart set on leaving, ‘n’ I told her, nobody fuckin’ wants you here anyway, Mary Beth, go on home!”

The haggard old man, who introduced himself as Fred, says this in a jovial, rehearsed way that tells Frankie this story has been told many times. Probably over drinks, to coworkers, or friends, or anyone who happened to be within earshot at his regular barstool.

Fred glances around over his puffy, purpled nose, like he half expects his spectators’ laughter, but the only noise is the squeak of people’s uncomfortable shifting in seats. Either because the story is too relatable, or because these folding chairs are hell on the tailbone.

“She told me if I didn’t get my ass outta that barstool, she’d be gone when I got home,” he looks at the floor and his cheeky grin falls, “I didn’t go home ‘til barclose. ‘N’ she was still there. Knew she would be. She always was.”

The room is silent as he gathers his thoughts.

“She passed away, few years back,” he looks around, putting his calloused hands up defensively, “‘N’ I miss her everyday, don’t get me wrong, but—”

The well-weathered skin of his face sags into solemnity, “I kinda wish she woulda kicked me to the curb, y’know? Was always waitin’ for it, for her to get fed up ‘n’ leave, but she never did. ‘N’ I think, sometimes, maybe… she woulda lived a better life if she did. ‘Steada waiting around for some drunk, she coulda really made somethin’ out of herself. And I feel…” he frowns at the floor, trying to pinpoint the correct emotion, a skill undoubtedly atrophied by decades of avoidance.

“Regret, I think? Wasting so much of her life. It’s one thing wastin’ my life, but her’s… I dunno. It don’t sit right,” Fred clears his throat and swallows, then sighs, “Guess that’s it. Our anniversary’s coming up next week, she’s been on my mind ‘n’ I wanted to get that out.”

The ringleader for tonight is David, as is usually the case at the Monday night meetings Frankie attends. He thanks Fred for sharing, then asks for another volunteer.

Frankie leans back in his seat and presses his fingers to his lips as another participant clears their throat and begins to talk. He’s stuck on the old man’s story, though. His knee starts bouncing as he turns it over in his mind.

I’m not that bad, right? I wasn’t that absent. I didn’t go to the bar every night. On the weekends, sure. And on weeknights, I’d drink myself fuzzy and numb, but at least I was at home.

Was he really present, though?

Before you, when Angie was home with Sarah on maternity leave, he’d come home from work and visit with them for a while. Knock a few beers or drinks back. After dinner, he would continue to drink in the garage, or in the basement. Somewhere Angie couldn’t raise her eyebrows every time he finished a beverage and retrieved a replacement.

Even after you, this ritual continued. You distracted him enough to slow the drinking those few hours after he got home. But once the table was cleared after dinner, he would tuck himself away somewhere in the house to drink alone.

It wasn’t always that way.��

He drank, sure, but it wasn’t every day. It wasn’t to the point his mind went blank.

No, that didn’t start until he returned from South America.

Every time his eyelids closed, it played on repeat. The mansion. The crash. The village. Redfly’s vacant eyes. Over and over. His culpability hung around his neck like a noose.

The guys didn’t want to talk about it. A silent agreement not to mention their sins. Angie didn’t want to talk about it. Too pissed at him for going in the first place to feel bad for him.

It just stayed inside him, replaying again and again on loop. He needed something to wipe the slate clean, and booze worked.

Not like he was sober before then. Drinking himself blind on the weekends. Fuck, Angie was the same way. Before she got pregnant, anyway. That’s how they ended up meeting, that summer night back in 2018.

He and Benny went to one of their frequent Saturday spots. The bar was crowded and loud, heavy throngs of people attracted by a popular local DJ. Summer heat crept into the air despite the industrial air conditioner running at full blast, Florida’s relentless humidity hung thick in the air, leaving a dewy residue on every surface.

The only thing Frankie could smell was that primal, earthy scent of sweat. He pinched his shirt and pulled it away from his chest with a few quick tugs, trying to get some kind of a breeze going. When he looked around the bar, swathes of exposed skin all surrounded him, people wiping their foreheads and fanning themselves.

He spotted two women sitting at a high-top table, leaning over their drinks and talking to each other. One of them was a pretty, unassuming brunette. The other had glossy black hair that shone in the neon lights, cascading in waves down the open back of her dress. She looked put together and fucking luminous, the way her copper skin seemed to glow. He couldn’t look away.

Benny was in the middle of a sentence when Frankie cut him off, “Holy shit, look at her.”

“What—who?” Benny followed Frankie’s line of sight and guffawed, “Her? She would eat you for fucking breakfast, man.”

“I fucking wish,” Frankie gave Benny this dopey smile, nodding towards them, “You getting a feel on the friend?”

Benny glanced her over and shrugged, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth, “Pretty brunette?”

“Right up your alley, huh?” Frankie grinned, then nudged his friend, “So?”

“Fuck it, why not?” Benny chuckled.

“Atta boy,” Frankie smacked his shoulder a few times, then started off towards the table.

“Hey, how’re you two doing tonight?” he asked as he leaned against the table, looking between the two women, who sized him up scrupulously, “Yeah, uh, my name is Frankie, this is my buddy, Benny. Mind if we join you?”

“Why?” the subject of his desire asked, her big, round eyes searching Frankie’s face.

“Why?” he raised his eyebrows and chuckled, “Well, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’d sell my goddamn soul for an opportunity to talk to you—”

“Oh yeah?” she smirked and tilted her head, bringing the tip of her tongue to her top teeth before shrugging, “Prove it.”

“You—you want it? My soul?” he grinned and leaned closer, “It’s yours, beautiful, for the low, low price of this barstool next to you. And maybe, if you’re feeling generous, a dance later?”

“That’s a hell of a deal,” she raised her eyebrows and joked, “For you, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?” he laughed, “What if I throw in a sweetener? I’ll buy your drinks, too, how’s that sound?”

She scrunched her face up in contemplation, then smiled, “Deal.”

“Yeah?” Frankie beamed, extending his hand to her, and as she took it, he grazed his thumb against her soft skin, “What’s your name?”

“Angie,” she answered, eyebrow quirking as she told him, “This doesn’t mean you’re taking me home tonight, though.”

“Noted,” he smirked, dropping his eyes to her lips, before meeting her gaze, “So what’re you drinking?”

He woke up the next morning in his bed, head spinning, stomach clenching.

Before opening his eyes, he tried to recount the night, following the path of breadcrumbs his memory allowed him. Meeting Angie, taking shots, flirting with her relentlessly, more drinks, dancing with her. Kissing her on the dance floor. The sidewalk slabs uneven beneath his feet on the walk back to his apartment. A woman’s razor sharp giggle as he fumbled to unlock the door.

The mattress shifted beside him and he cracked one eyelid open tentatively, releasing a sigh of relief when he recognized Angie as the person tangled up in his sheets. Traces of the previous night’s makeup still held in tact on her face, oily pools gathering in the soft wrinkles of her forehead and eyes, black mascara clinging to her lashes in clumps and flaking onto her cheeks, a faint red outline where her lipstick was before he kissed it off of her. He rolled on his side towards her and brushed some of the sweat-dampened hair from her forehead.

She hummed and frowned, then took a deep, wakeful breath as her eyes blinked open. They were stunning in the light. Golden streaks like sunbeams stretching from the middle of her iris into a deep, rich brown.

“Oh, fuck,” she murmured, “We fucked, didn’t we?”

“That’s what it’s looking like,” he smirked, “How’re you feeling?”

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her button nose, “Still drunk.”

“Regret this yet?” he chuckled, half-joking, half-wondering.

“Having sex with a stranger? Yeah, I’m having some regrets,” she scoffed, shaking her head, then threw her hand down at her side. She sighed and studied his face, “You’re cute, though. Kind of wish I could remember it.”

“Ditto,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with a shrug, “You know, we could have a do-over. Since we’re already here and regretting it. You could… let me have another chance to, ya know, make a lasting impression.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” her dark eyebrow arched. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. She brought her long, red fingernails to his hairline and combed them through his bed head.

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded, dropping his gaze to her lips, “Plus, that way, when this hangover inevitably kills me, I’ll die a happy man.”

“Is that right?” she giggled. The sound made his heart sing in harmony.

“That’s right,” he reached out to her under the covers, smoothing his hands along her soft skin, coaxing her closer as he murmured, “What do you think, princesa, hmm?”

“I think,” she wriggled on top of him, the sticky heat of her naked body clinging to his, “I could give you a fighting chance.“

She hovered over him, meeting his eyes for an intoxicating moment before he pulled her lips to his. From there, it was full throttle. Kissing, biting, gasping, moaning. Torrid, frenzied movements that burned bright and hot.

Their relationship took off at break-neck speed.

From that day onward, they were doing nightly sleepovers at each others’ apartments. Every free moment spent with the other, most often spent drinking or fucking. Six days into their relationship, Frankie got a text from some girl he was casually seeing. Angie read it when he was out of the room, then confronted him, resulting in their first drunk screaming match, and, subsequently, their first instance of drunk make-up sex.

She worked at a global manufacturing plant’s central office with hundreds of other carpet-walkers and pencil-pushers as a financial analyst. Her hours often ran long and wound her up tight.

When she would show up at Frankie’s apartment after work, she’d be ready to burst. He’d fix her a drink and listen to her bitch about coworkers and projects and idiots who used reply all instead of reply, waiting for her to ask him anything about his day. She never seemed all that curious about him, though, which irked him.

They did have fun together, when they had sex and went out to bars, but by the end of the second month, he found her presence to be draining. That bug of discontentment wriggled beneath his skin. He realized they had little in common aside from their coping mechanisms and combustibility.

He started to think about breaking things off with Angie, but, by then, it was too late.

“Who would like to go next?” David asks, glancing around the circle of metal folding chairs and their scattered occupants.

Frankie meets his eyes and points his index finger at the ceiling.

“Floor’s yours, Frankie.”

“Thanks,” Frankie nodded and crossed his arms, sitting back in the squeaky chair, “Growing up, my dad wasn’t around much,” his mouth opens, but a thought occurs to him and he chuckles, shaking his head, “There’s one for the AA Meeting Bingo Card, huh?”

This actually earns a few amused grins and a snort of laughter from his peers.

He leans forward, pressing his elbows into his knees with a shrug, “Anyway. Even when he was living with us, whenever I did see him, he had a beer in his hand. And I thought it was normal, like everyone’s dad went to the bar every night, so I didn’t think much of it. I’m not sure when that changed. When I started to notice, I mean, that it wasn’t normal.

“When I’d go to my friend’s house, I thought they were… I dunno, fucking weird? Because they sat around the dinner table and talked to each other while they ate. And—and they didn’t seem afraid of their dad. Like, they didn’t have to walk on eggshells when he was around, which made me… uncomfortable, I guess,” he grimaces and shakes his head, “Jesus Christ, that’s fucked up. But, anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that, to me, my dad’s behavior was normal.

“There would be times when he would come home and be three sheets to the goddamn wind, and he’d yell and throw shit, and my ma, she would lock me in my bedroom and tell me not to come out. Said my dad wasn’t feeling well,” he crinkles his nose and shrugs, “They split when I was twelve. And I don’t blame her for leaving him, I really don’t, but… I didn’t see him again until I got out of basic.”

He stops and leans back, taps his fingers on his kneecaps, then crosses his arms. A knot tightens in his throat when he remembers that day. Knocking on the door of his dad’s shitty apartment in Orlando. When it swung open, Frankie barely recognized him.

Seven years left to his own devices aged him decades. Deep wrinkles carved into his droopy forehead. His nose and cheeks were darkened and bumpy, like he had a pubescent case of acne. He looked Frankie over with glossy, barely-there eyes and slurred, “There’s my boy! Hey, come in, Francisco, come in!”

Frankie’s stomach soured when the words hit his face, thick and swollen with whiskey. A warning signal that laid dormant in his veins for years reawakened, gushing hot and electric beneath his staticky skin.

His father turned and started waddling into the apartment, so Frankie followed him, closing the door left wide open behind him. The apartment was threadbare. A dingy beige couch sat on one side of the living room, facing a small antennaed tv propped up on a milk crate. Some blonde news anchor chattered on the tv, but the gurgling buzz of the air conditioning unit effectively muted her. In lieu of a proper dining room setup, his father had a folding chair tucked into a card table, which was cluttered by piles of unopened envelopes and empty beer cans.

While the stranger pulled two beer cans out of his fridge, Frankie managed to stitch some words together, “So, how’ve you been, Dad?”

He didn’t seem to hear his question, just held one aluminum can across the countertop to his son, “You’re a real man now, huh? Have a beer with me, Francisco.”

Frankie took a few steps forward and went to lean onto the counter, but decided against it when he realized how sticky the surface was. He accepted the beer and opened it.

“It’s been too long, my boy, too long. What has it been, four years?”

“Seven,” Frankie corrected, averting his gaze to a tower of dirty dishes emerging from cloudy, gray water in the sink. The wet, bacterial, rotting stench made his nose crinkle.

“Ah, well. I’m, well…” he trailed off and swallowed three big gulps of beer, then grinned, “So, Special Forces, huh?”

“Yeah, I—”

“I’m proud of you, Francisco.”

Frankie’s head jerked backwards and he met his dad’s dark eyes, “Wh-what?”

“Takes discipline,” he responded, nodding, “I’m proud of you. Your mom, she did a good job with you.”

And he wanted to say a million different things. He wanted to say thank you and I love you and I forgive you and I hate you and fuck you. He wanted to yell: No thanks to you, you drunk old bastard. You woman-beating fucking coward. A different part of him wanted to cry: Why did you abandon me? Why wasn’t I good enough? Am I good enough now?

But when he licked his lips and opened his mouth to respond, his dad shuffled off into the sad living room, changing the subject.

Frankie shakes his head and sighs, then looks around the room, “When Angie got pregnant, I vowed I’d never be like him. I—I wanted to be there for my kid, to be better than he was to me, and give my child a better life than I had.

“Ang and I don’t always, um… see eye-to-eye. We have our problems. I’m trying to make it work, but I’m just so,” the word catches in his throat and burns behind his eyes. He takes a deep breath, swallows, and admits, “I’m so scared it’s not going to work. And Ang will take her. And I’ll end up just like him.”

He clears his throat, then takes another wide, cleansing breath before starting again.

“The only things I’ve ever been any good at are being a soldier and being a dad,” he says, staring at the floor, “It’s hard enough only seeing her a few times a week right now. I fucking hate it. I hate not being there when she wakes up in the middle of the night with a nightmare, and not watching Happy Feet with her twice a day, and not cuddling on the couch with her in the morning,” his stomach clenches and he feels a swell of tears starting behind his eyes, but continues, “The only thing getting me through this right now is knowing that it’s temporary. But if it doesn’t work with Angie, and I lose Sarah, I lose fucking everything. And I—I fucking can’t do that. I won’t.”

Frankie buries his face in his hands and feels a sob bubble up his throat. The echo of his crying returns to his ears and he becomes acutely aware of the other people in the room. That hardened part of his brain scolds him, growling at him to fucking get it together. He pushes the chair out behind him and keeps his head down as he walks out of the room, muttering, “I need a minute.”

When your shitty old car pulls into the hotel parking lot, Frankie is still outside pacing, trying to gather the courage to go back inside and face the group.

He breathes a sigh of relief and starts towards it. You furrow your brow at him through your cracked windshield. When he opens the car door and sits down, you ask, “Why aren’t you in there?”

“It’s fine,” he frowns and pulls his seatbelt over his chest, locking it in place, “Got out early.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then scoff, “Bullshit. What happened?”

“Nothing—”

“Oh my god, Frankie, come on,” you cross your arms and lean back in your seat, searching his face, “You’re all flustered right now—”

“I am not,” he protests.

“You’re such a liar, you are flus-tered,” you blink at him with authority, raising one eyebrow, “All jittery, and your eyes look red—did you cry? Is that it?”

It’s irritating how well you know him.

He rolls his eyes and looks out the window, muttering against his fingers, “Can we just go?”

“It’s ok, you know, to cry,” you say quietly.

His leg starts bouncing and his jaw gnashes from one side to the other.

Like you’re one to talk.

Like you don’t go out of your way to hide from him every time tears pool in your eyes.

“Hey,” you coo and tug on his hand. He lets you take it, interlacing his fingers with yours. The contact makes his heart skip a beat. When he looks over at you, your brows are threaded together, earnest eyes searching his face, “You’re not the first person to cry in AA, I promise. They’re there to support you. Give them a chance to help.”

He glances up at the hotel’s exit and sees a few people from the meeting filing out, and shrugs, “It’s over now, anyways.”’

“Did you get your paper signed?”

“No.”

“C’mon, at least get credit for your work,” you smirk, squeezing his hand, “I’m sure they’ll understand why you left.”

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face, “Fine.”

“Atta boy,” you grin, “Do you want me to come with or do you got this?”

“I got this,” he flashes a weak smile, and has to hold himself back from bringing the back of your hand to his lips.

He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the vehicle, nodding at a few familiar faces as he makes his way back into the building to the conference room.

In the room, a few people are putting away chairs or talking in small, quiet groups. David stands by the snack table, signing off on someone’s attendance form. Frankie lines up behind them and avoids David’s gaze when it’s his turn to hand over the attendance sheet.

“That was really vulnerable, what you shared with us today,” David tells Frankie as he unfolds the form.

His nostrils flare and he scoffs, “I thought I was supposed to share things.”

David frowns as he signs off on the paper, shaking his head, “It’s a compliment. Being vulnerable is good, and I appreciate your vulnerability.”

“Oh,” Frankie shifts his weight to one leg and frowns, “Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course,” David hands the form back, and when Frankie takes it, he can tell David is gearing up to say more. His face grows more solemn. He pushes the wire frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, “I know how conflicting it is being an alcoholic father with an alcoholic father. It’s hard to know if you’re doing the right thing. Being apart from them is hell, even if it’s when you’re doing something to make yourself better. I just wanted to let you know that I get it.”

Frankie nods, searching the man’s face, “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” David flashes a polite smile, then turns to the snack table and starts picking things up.

When the two of you get home, Frankie goes into your bedroom to haul the TV back to its normal spot in the living room.

He finds himself lingering at the foot of the bed, staring at the side he slept in last night. At the covers, still drawn back from when he woke for work this morning. At the stuffed panda bear you set in his place at some point today.

My place.

He needs to stop thinking like that. It’s not his place. It can’t be his place.

Not permanently, anyway.

Part of him feels guilty for not leaving once you fell asleep. Staying was pure self-indulgence, no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it was for your benefit.

It can’t become a habit.

But all weekend he wanted to hold you. To feel your beating heart and shallow, wheezy breath against his body. Proof that you were still here, after seeing you gasping for air, lips tinged blue, eyes wide with fear.

In his life, he’s faced a lot of scary and uncertain situations. Situations that threatened his own life and that of people he cares about. But this… this was different. At least in combat scenarios, he had training and experience to guide him.

This weekend he felt powerless.

If he had to quantify the terror, he was at maximum capacity. Never been so fucking afraid in his life. He felt so helpless, he folded his hands and bowed his head at your hospital bedside, reaching out to something or someone in hushed whispers, pleading for your recovery.

So, no, he couldn’t bring himself to leave you alone in your bed last night. Not when you fell asleep in his arms, your head on his chest, curled up at his side.

The answer to his prayers.

When he was sure you were sleeping, he pressed his lips to your forehead and told you what he’s only barely been able to admit to himself.

In a million different ways, I’ve always loved you.

It was indulgent. Undisciplined.

But mostly, it was a relief.

Even if his words fell on your sleeping ears.

Even if he can probably never tell you again.

With a heavy sigh, he follows the TV’s power cord to the wall and unplugs it. He freezes when he spots something on the floor next to your dresser. You cough at the other end of the house, and he glances over his shoulder just to make sure you’re not around before he picks it up.

A pile of soft teal lace. Your underwear.

He brings them to his nose and inhales, the familiar scent inspiring a deep, heated churn at the base of his spine. Without another thought, he shoves them in the front pocket of his jeans, then unplugs the TV.

Frankie settles on the couch with a groan, then glances over to where you’re curled up into a little ball and asks, “Were you able to get some rest today?”

You nod and your mouth stretches into a yawn, then you murmur, “Still kind of feel like shit, though. Hopefully it’s better by Wednesday.”

“Oh yeah, how’re your kids doing?”

“Marla said they’re doing better, getting back to their normal selves. Em’s going back to school tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” he leans back and spreads out in his corner of the couch, “You like it, working for them?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “They’re sweet kids. Whole different vibe than Sarah, though,” you glance at him and chuckle, “Don’t tell anybody, but she was my favorite.”

A grin stretches across Frankie’s face. He presses his fingertips to his lips and looks over at you, “She is pretty great, huh?”

“The best,” you agree, a wistful smile playing on your lips, “I hope that when I, um,“ you falter here, smile dropping. You clear your throat and shake your head, “Sorry, I lost my train of thought. Are you guys doing anything fun tomorrow?”

“Not sure yet. Angie, um… yeah, I don’t know,” he frowns at his knee as it starts to bounce, “She’s pissed at me. So probably, you know, dealing with that.”

“Because you skipped out on Saturday?”

He nods, and when you don’t say anything, he glances over at you, “It’s fine, though, she’ll get over it.”

“Sure,” you smirk, raising an eyebrow, “Have things been going ok outside of that?”

“Aside from the alcoholism, my pending felony, and the fact that I’m living with another woman?” he snorts, “Things are going great.”

“Don’t forget the affair,” you tease.

“Mmm, you mean the isolated incident?” he corrects, rolling his head on his shoulders to look at you.

You scoff and shake your head, “Wow. Yeah, isolated. Sure. Just a mistake, right?”

He searches your face, watching your eyes go dim and your jaw clench, and furrows his brow, “N-no, that’s not—“

You clamp your lips closed with your teeth, like you’re holding yourself back, then open your mouth anyway, “That’s what you tell her, though, right?” you blink, “It was a mistake, it meant nothing to you, it’ll never happen again, blah blah blah?”

His jaw hangs slack and throat croaks as he tries to yield some kind of truth that will both spare your feelings and help him evade scrutiny, “I’m—sorry.”

It’s all he can come up with.

You roll your eyes and sigh, then mutter, “Whatever,” before turning your attention back to the TV.

The silence that settles is tense. It writhes beneath his skin and trickles into his stomach, twisting it into knots.

You start to wriggle in your seat, like it’s bothering you, too. He can feel a jagged energy rolling off your body, and, predictably, you break.

“If you ever want things to actually work with her, you’re going to have to come clean,” you huff, then glare at him, “You know that right? That you can’t just lie to her forever? There’s no way she fucking believes you.”

Frankie sighs, picking his hat off his head to run a hand through his hair, “Can we not?”

“Sure, we can just not,” you snip and sit up straight, crossing your arms across your chest, “We can just pretend things are cool and groovy and you can get your life back and I can fuck off into oblivion.”

“Jesus Christ—”

“Well, fuck, that’s what you want, right, Frankie?” you stare at him, “You’ll be nice to me while you’re here, and cuddle with me, and hold my hand, and what the fuck ever, but when this arrangement is over, then what?”

“I don’t fucking know, ok?!” he snaps, then stands and starts pacing the living room, shaking his head, “I don’t know if—if I’m going to fucking prison, or if I’m going to lose my job, or if my wife will fucking divorce me and take my daughter away—”

Frankie stops and turns away from you, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. A few quiet seconds go by as he gathers himself and wrangles the burgeoning tears back into his skull. When he turns back around, he throws his hands out at his side, then lets them fall loose, “I don’t know what anything will look like after this,” he meets your glossy eyes, all wide and pained, and tells you in a hoarse, shaky voice, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a fucking asshole to you for so long. I lied to you. I pushed you away. I fucking—I fucking hurt you and I understand that.”

He takes a few steps forward. Your eyes, pooling with tears, stay glued his, following seamlessly when he crouches down in front of you and pleads, “I’m trying to be better, I swear to god I’m fucking trying. I—I care about you a lot. And I’m sorry I can’t give you a better answer for what you and me will look like after this ‘situation’ is over with, because I have no fucking clue what anything will look like.”

You swallow hard and nod, then drop your gaze as your face crumbles. A sob bubbles up your throat and quickly devolves into a coughing fit.

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters, glancing around. He spots your inhaler on the coffee table and hands it to you, “Need this?”

You take it and inhale a few puffs of albuterol. When your breathing evens out, blink the tears from your eyes and croak out, “Sorry.”

He reaches up and smudges a fat, swollen tear on your cheek with his thumb, “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

A pained expression crosses your face. You lean away from his touch, so he sits down beside you as you exhale a thick sigh and look around the room.

“I understand why you wouldn’t tell Angie everything. I just—” one of your cheeks pulls in like you’re gnawing at the inside. You release it and tell him, “I just hate the idea of you saying we were a mistake. I don’t know. Is that dumb?”

Your eyes flick to his and they’re so sincere, his stomach flips upside down. He shakes his head, “No, that’s not dumb.”

“Ok,” you sniffle, nodding as you look at the TV, “Ok.”

A minute goes by, each second amplifying the buzz beneath his skin. He looks over and realizes you’re squished against the armrest of the couch, curled up in a tense knot of limbs, brow furrowed, biting at your lip.

“Hey,” he coos, beckoning you closer, “Come here.”

You give him this kind of pathetic, kind of cute pout, but accept the invitation. As he wraps an arm around your shoulders, you drape your legs across his lap, rest your head in the crook of his neck. He lays his cheek on the crown of your head and tucks you into an embrace.

Maybe it’s one-sided, but Frankie feels heat humming between your bodies.

The floral, minty scent of your hair, mixing with the musk of your soft skin, all dewy from humidity. Your breath rolling hot across the column of his throat.

You wriggle closer, and the weight of your body settles between his legs. Presses firm down on his half-hard cock.

His insides twist with a nagging, all-consuming want. The kind that usually fogs his brain when he thinks about booze. It claws at him like an animal caged within his ribs. Teeth bared, ferocious, growing: I need her I need her I need her

In the same cadence it always howls: I need a drink I need a drink I need a drink

The tips of his fingers scrape against your shoulder. A little whimper sneaks out your throat and drips down his spine. Your muscles shift and he can feel your lips hovering over his thudding pulse.

This is dangerous. This is a line. A tightrope teetering beneath the soles of his feet.

You breathe his name and it grazes his neck. His body surges with desire, cock throbbing, and he’s unable to stop the whine that croaks out his lips.

He looks down at you, meeting your darkened, heavy-lidded gaze. You study each other, but neither of you move, despite the palpable current of electricity between you.

“I—I should go to bed,” you whisper with little conviction, eyes darting to his mouth.

“It’s still light out,” he says, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek.

You shiver and your lips part, panting, “I need to clear my head—I’m… not thinking right.”

Frankie imagines you clearing your head in your bedroom with the door closed. Your fingers working between your legs, eyes pinched closed while you flip through the mental catalogue of all the times he’s fucked you.

“Can I come with you?” he asks, voice ragged, “I won’t—I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

You search his face, brows pushing together, and nod.

This is stupid.

You both know it.

But he follows you to your room and closes the door behind him.

Sinks into your bed as you lay out on the other side.

You start slow, hands roaming the curves of your body. Over your tight tank top, no bra underneath, just the clear outline of your nipples. Along the middle of those little cotton sleep shorts he likes so much.

He keeps his distance, blood pounding thick in his skull, as you ruck your shirt up your chest and roll a hardened bud between your fingers. You whimper and bite down on your bottom lip, eyes locking to his as your other hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts.

In his periphery, he can see the outline of your wrist flicking under the fabric, but he can’t part his eyes from yours. It’s entrancing. Your mouth opens in a moan, lips pouting out into a whimper as you start to gain traction.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, pushing his palm against his swollen length trapped within the confines of his jeans, begging for attention. He unbuckles his belt and tugs his pants off. At the same time, you pull your shorts down. Some sort of silent trade agreement.

Frankie wraps his hand around his cock and drags his grip down, pulling the sensitive, aching skin taught. His palm is dry and rough as he starts to rut up and down, but the friction gives his touch an edge that makes him shiver.

You’re watching him do this while you trail your fingertips along the shiny ridges of your sex. Saliva pools in his mouth when he remembers what you taste like. Imagines his tongue tracing the soft folds of you.

Your hips buck and you whimper when you touch your clit. You roll the pads of your fingers against the engorged bundle of nerves, eyelids fluttering as you work yourself.

You both find a steady rhythm, panting and whining, glancing between each other's legs, hands, eyes. The increasingly frantic movements make your bed squeak.

The two of you are so lost in the haze of pleasure, Frankie knows either of you could suggest physical contact between your bodies and the other would immediately say yes, but this fucked up little loophole has you both blissfully dangling on the precipice.

He’s trying to keep his commentary to a minimum, but you’re driving him fucking crazy.

Your blown-out pupils watching him fuck his hand. The sheen of sweat lacing your skin. A thick, gleaming layer of arousal coating your pussy and fingers. He wants to lick it off of you, taste you, drive his cock inside you and feel that divine squeeze.

As his heartbeat starts to gallop and the fire in his belly laps its way up his spine, he pants, “You’re so fucking hot, holy shit—do you like this? Like me watching you get off?”

“Yes,” you gasp, meeting his gaze, working yourself faster, “I do, Frankie, I like it.”

His name on your lips is like an electric jolt to his insides. He groans, “Say my name again.”

“Frankie,” you whimper.

A wave of heat washes over him, “Fuck yes, that’s so fucking good, baby—say it again—”

“Frankie,” you moan, sinking two fingers into your cunt, a sick wet sound squelching out as you start to fuck yourself.

“Such a good girl, holy fuck, that’s it,” he grunts, pumping himself faster, lightning churning in his belly, “Gonna make yourself cum, sweet girl?”

You nod feverishly, face pinched up with pleasure, hips arching into your touch, “Frankie—fuck fuck fuck—”

“There we go, baby, you can do it,” he rasps, and watches as your movements come to a fever pitch, then your body starts to shudder and you belt out this strangled moan that pushes him over the edge.

Pleasure ripples through him and he grinds his fist down a few more times, pulsing his load all over his hand, across the bedding, a few splatters reaching your hip. He groans and slows.

His muscles start to melt. He throws his head back into the pillow, then rolls his head on his shoulders to look at you.

Your chest is heaving and you’re all blissed out, a hazy smile on your lips.

“You’re not gonna freak out, now, are you?” he pants, searching your face. He reaches over and gives you a playful poke to show he’s only half-joking.

You meet his eyes smirking for a beat before you chuckle, “I don’t think so, but—could you get my, umm—inhaler?”

“Yeah,” he nods and rolls off the bed.

When Frankie returns, you’re pulling your shirt down over your tits and propping yourself up on some pillows.

“Thanks,” you murmur, then take it from him and inhale a few puffs.

“You ok?” he asks as he rolls onto the bed next to you, wrestling a pillow under his chest.

A coy smile plays on your lips when you glance over at him, shaking your head, “This was really dumb.”

He chuckles and shrugs, “Probably.”

“Fuck,” you giggle, burying your face in your hands, “Frankie, why did we do that?”

“Because we’re big dumb idiots?” he laughs.

“Speak for yourself,” you snort, curling up on your side to face him.

“Sure, yeah, of course. You’re super smart,” he teases, pointing between him and you, “This is definitely something that smart people do.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you push his shoulder weakly. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you say, “We’re never going to speak of this again, are we?”

He opens his mouth to make a joke and attempt to sweep it all under the rug, but stops when he realizes it probably warrants a conversation.

“Do—is that what you wanna do?” he asks instead, stammering, “Because we can, you know, talk about it if you want to.“

“I don’t know what I want,” you sigh, your face folding into a thoughtful expression. A few moments pass, then your eyebrows shoot up and you look at him, “Ok, this is a weird time to ask this, but, I meant to ask you earlier and forgot.”

He nods, “Shoot.”

“My sister is getting married over Labor Day weekend, and because I’m her bridesmaid and family and blah blah blah, she wants me to go stay out there for the week, and umm, I don’t know how that works with your parole and stuff—”

“Do you want me to ask Ralph tomorrow?”

“Well, yeah,” you meet his eyes, “But—but also, can you come with me?”

It takes a moment for Frankie to register the question, and when he understands, his mind starts whirring with uncertainty. Angie. Court. Ralph. Sarah. Prison.

“Not, like, as my date or whatever,” you add, waving your hand around nervously as you explain, “I just–I haven’t been home in years because my family is the worst and I—” you sigh, face pinching up as you admit, “I could use a friend.”

That makes up his mind.

“Yeah,” he answers, “Yeah, as long as I’m not in fucking jail by then, I’ll make it work. Let me… let me talk to work and Ralph, see what I can do.”

You give him a restrained smile and say, “Thank you.”

After the two of you decide to get dressed and watch a movie, he goes into his bedroom to change into a pair of basketball shorts, while you supervise a packet of popcorn in the microwave. Giving his closed door a quick glance, he pulls the bundle of soft teal lace out of his pocket and opens a dresser drawer to tuck them away, but pauses when his thumb grazes something damp.

His brows furrow, then shoot up as he unfolds the underwear and recognizes the slick substance coating them. He brings the fabric to his nose and inhales, confirming his suspicion.

You must have noticed them when he was getting your inhaler. And rather than taking the panties back, or saying anything to him, you cleaned your arousal off and replaced them.

He grins at the present, because that’s what it is, really, then shoves the lace into his dresser drawer.

“Daddy, look, that’s Mumble,” Sarah tells Frankie, pointing one chubby, blueberry-stained finger at a plastic baby emperor penguin.

Her collection of penguins is lined up on the edge of the dining room table, in order of smallest to biggest. She wriggles around on his lap, looking up at him with those big brown eyes, waiting for acknowledgement.

“That one does look like Mumble,” he agrees emphatically, “What kind of penguin is he?”

“A empreror penguin!” she beams, throwing her hands in the air.

“That’s right,” he chuckles, “An emperor penguin! How many penguins do you have?”

Sarah’s eyes light up at the exciting new challenge, and she turns her attention to the plastic figurine lineup, counting each one out loud.

Frankie glances across the table at Angie. She‘s glaring out the window, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Ang,” he rumbles, but she doesn’t respond. A hot wave of frustration weaves through his muscles and pulls them taught. His nostrils flare and he shakes his head, muttering, “Whatever.”

The dining room chair scrapes against the floor as she pushes it out and stomps out of the room, down the stairs like a petulant child.

Sarah stops counting and tells him, “Mommy’s mad.”

He chuckles softly at this and nods, “Yeah, I think so. I’m gonna go talk to her, ok, sweetie?”

Sarah resumes her counting when Frankie stands and sets her in the chair. He finds Angie in the laundry room, folding clothes with sharp, agitated movements.

“Can we talk about this?” he asks. She doesn’t acknowledge him, so he continues, “Angelica. Come on. You haven’t said a word to me since I texted you on Saturday. Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“The fact that you don’t know what’s wrong is exactly what’s fucking wrong, Francisco,” she growls.

He sighs and steps closer, leaning one hip against the washer, “As much as I would love to be able to, I can’t read your mind. So if you could help me out, maybe give me a clue—”

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” she snaps, tossing the small pink t-shirt in her hands into a laundry basket.

His head jerks back and he scoffs, “Sure.”

“You passed up time with your wife and daughter to be with your fucking mistress,” she blinks, then throws her hands up in the air, “Is it really so fucking inconceivable that I’m mad about that?”

“First of all, she’s not my mistress,” Frankie asserts, crossing his arms, “Second, she almost fucking died, Ang, I couldn’t just leave her alone in the hospital.”

“So, what, she didn’t have anyone else that could come sit with her in the hospital?” Angie snorts, raising an eyebrow, “I was about to say she’s a grown woman, she can take care of herself, but,” she sucks on her teeth and flashes him a faux sympathetic smile, “That’s barely true, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, rolling his eyes, then stares at her, “You know that’s not true, and—and no, ok? She didn’t have anyone else to sit at the hospital with her. None of her family made it out, she doesn’t have any friends. Her boyfriend didn’t even come to visit, so,” he pushes off the washing machine and pinches the bridge of his nose, then drops his hand and lies, “I felt fucking bad for her, that’s all. She couldn’t breathe and was all sick and shit, and nobody cared enough to visit her. It was, I don’t know, it was sad and I felt shitty about leaving.”

She seems to consider this, then gives a little shrug, “That is kind of sad.”

He nods, searching her face, dark eyebrows all scrunched together in contemplation.

“She has a boyfriend?”

He nods, “Yeah. They’ve been together for a while.”

Not exactly a lie, but he can tell a little truth stretching will bring this conversation to a more comfortable place.

“I missed you,” he says in a pleading tone, meeting her eyes, hoping she buys it.

She sighs, “I missed you too.”

The glint in her eyes tells him it’s safe to approach, so he does. He presses his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes as he murmurs, “I love you.”

When Frankie gets home, you and Rory are sitting on the couch watching a movie together. His arm is draped over your shoulders and you’re huddled in his lap, head on his chest.

It reminds him of how the two of you are when no one else is around.

His blood pressure spikes and heats his veins. You perk up as you notice him, putting space between your body and Rory’s. A nervous smile spreads across your face. He doesn’t return the smile, just nods in greeting as he closes the door behind him, “Hey.”

Rory looks him up and down, then turns back to the TV.

“Hey, how’s it going?” you ask.

Frankie frowns and shrugs, “Fine. What’re you guys watching?”

Your phone starts ringing before you can answer. You sit up and grab it off the coffee table, muttering, “It’s my sister, I’ll be right back,” then tiptoe through the house to your bedroom, leaving him and Rory alone.

Frankie steps on the heel of his boot and starts to wriggle his foot free.

“Hey, man, I wanted to tell you—thanks for looking after her last weekend.”

Frankie glances up at Rory as he kicks one boot off, then the other, “Sure, yeah,” then starts off towards his room. Rory keeps talking, though, so he pauses.

“When she didn’t respond to me for a day I figured, ya know…” he shrugs, staring at him.

Frankie frowns and shakes his head, “Figured what?”

“Figured she ran off with you, man,” he chuckles, but his eyes aren’t smiling. They’re studying.

Frankie snorts and brings his hands to his hips, “What, really?”

Rory stands and saunters over, looking the way you left to make sure you’re still occupied, then tucks his hands in the front of his jean pockets and shrugs again, “Seems like y’all are pretty close. She doesn’t really like to talk about you. Kinda weird for someone who’s supposedly a friend.”

What kind of macho man bullshit is this? Is he… flexing?

“Yeah, she’s pretty private,” Frankie searches the other man’s face.

“Y’all ever fuck around?” he asks.

Frankie jerks his head back and frowns, “Uhh, sorry, what?”

Rory doesn’t say anything, just lets the air between them grow more hostile, flicking his eyes around Frankie’s face like a challenge. One that he’s not fucking interested in taking. Christ, what a fucking mess that would be.

Frankie scoffs and shakes his head, “No, we don’t fuck around. We’re friends. Ok?” He holds his hands up and tries to soften his face, “So, take it easy, she’s all yours.”

Rory seems to relax a little, then says, “Alright.”

“Alright,” Frankie chuckles with amusement, “We good?”

“Yeah,” Rory grins, offering a clenched fist to Frankie, “Sorry, man.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he bumps knuckles with the meathead and tells him, “You two have a good time, alright?”

Frankie retreats to his room and locks the door behind him.

Every muscle in his body starts to deflate.

His thoughts are fuzzy and loud.

He starts for his bed, but pauses, and turns instead to the dresser, thinking of that teal lace.

Today is one of those rare July days where it’s not just tolerable to be outside, it’s actually enjoyable.

A slight breeze rustles the palm fronds above. The sun kisses Frankie’s skin. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of a neighbor’s charcoal grill.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He cracks an eye open to find you standing over where he’s laying in the hammock and grins innocently, “What?”

“WhAt?” you mock him and snort, but pull up a chair and drop your little wicker basket in its seat, warning, “Ok, well, you’re sharing the hammock, at least.”

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” he tucks a hand behind his head and watches you roll into the hammock facing him.

You wriggle around for an entire minute, and when he starts to giggle at your restlessness, you whine, “Oh my god, scoot over.”

“Here,” he murmurs, shifting his weight so you lay roughly hip to hip, hooking one arm under your legs, “Better?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. Your body calms.

Then it’s quiet.

And the silence isn’t anything but peaceful, really.

“This is good,” you say eventually.

He’s not sure what this you’re referring to, but he agrees, “Yeah.”

You point to the sky, “That cloud looks like a gator.”

Frankie squints upward, examining the fluffy cotton balls hanging in the electric blue atmosphere, “That one looks like a cloud.”

A snort erupts from your face and you lay a playful smack on his thigh, “Oh, come on, use your imagination!”

“Ok, let’s see,” he clears his throat and tilts the bill of his hat back to take in more of the view. Then one catches his eye. He points to it, “Butterfly.”

You follow his direction and murmur, “Oh yeah, look at that. Neat.”

He studies it for a while, watching the two wings tumble and morph as it moves across the sky, until it’s just another nondescript cumulus cloud. Then he turns his attention to the basket you brought outside.

The hammock wobbles in protest when he sits up and lays it across the middle ground of your bodies. Frankie surveys the contents of the shallow wicker basket: a baguette; a dish of soft, white cheese with a little spatula-like knife sticking out the center; a bowl of red grapes and sliced strawberries; a couple of mandarin oranges.

He rips off a piece of bread and spreads some cheese across the soft inside, then sits back and takes a bite. You do the same, topping the cheese with some strawberries. As the two of you eat in a content silence, looking up at the sky, Frankie starts to ruminate on the confrontation that is surely lingering on the tip of your tongue.

Neither of you have dared to mention how you got off together in your bed. Surprisingly, it hasn’t changed the energy between him and you. But he’s found himself wondering if he’s just oblivious and unable to sense your disquiet, like he has in the past.

And now, since it’s Family Dinner, State of the Union, or whatever Ralph calls it, he braces himself for impact.

“Alright, let me have it,” he says after he finishes his second chunk of bread, nerves getting the best of him, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

The hammock shifts unsteadily as you sit up and put the basket back on the chair, then you lay back and stretch out, releasing a heavy sigh, “Honestly… I kind of don’t know what to say about it. I—I don’t know. I don’t feel different or have any kind of strong feelings about what happened.”

Frankie hums and looks over at you, watching your serene, skyward face.

“What about you? How do you feel?” you ask, leveling your gaze with his.

“I feel… the same,” he answers, frowning, “Like I should have a strong feeling, but I—I just don’t?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, shrugging, “Well, I don’t know, should we just… leave it?”

Relief washes over him and he nods, “I’m ok with that if you are.”

“Ok,” you grin, then look back up at the sky, “Anything else you need to get off your chest?”

Frankie rifles through his brain, pausing to think about Rory and the odd confrontation that happened the other day. It left a bad taste in his mouth. But, he shakes his head, “No. You?”

“I can’t think of anything.”

“Alright,” he inhales the blissful breeze that tickles his sun-warmed skin, then exhales, repeating your earlier sentiment, “This is good.”

[ Next Chapter ]

#designated person #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales angst #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal

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1nvad3rz1m · 8 months

Text

On recapkidd/ang

So news is getting around about ang's unfortunate fate as they're allegedly on EOL (end of life) care after being unable to access health insurance from being deprived industry jobs. It's true that zadr (p*rn) is what kick started these events but it was not just invader zim fans that did this. This was, based on the timeline and evidence, a calculated attack from a few of ang's previous friends and acquaintances

So here's a run down, you can make your own judgements but here is the best I can offer as a timeline of events. PLEASE BE AWARE i am linking some twitter accounts that may have nsfw content! I am only linking to specific tweets with nothing explicit in them but I cannot promise the accounts themselves are clean.

This document is directly from ang themself, and gives a pretty detailed timeline of when this started (~2020) and features the most prominent ringleaders (jeraspat, holly, kyle, tai). i'll abbreviate it regardless but i highly recommend you read it

Ang's response

Basically, BEFORE their account as reapkid they joined jera's friendgroup. This group, for reasons unrelated to ang but they joined in the moment of, fell apart. If you've ever been unlucky enough to experience this you know where this goes, Ang's addition was blamed as the reason it fell apart.

Eventually Ang separated from this group but due to the scapegoat status and Jera's idolization of them (which you can read about in the doc) it wasn't over. This point is when Ang started drawing zadr and we knew them as recapkid here on tumblr. Jera is the primary reason Ang was targeted for this because as we all know after florpus release there was uptick in anti-zadr sentiment. What happens next is a long process of callouts by multiple different users and eventual doxxing of ang.

There's some max v jera drama (jera's callout for max, any orange block out is ang's name) that drags ang in but that wasn't the killing blow. tai (toydrill on twit)'s call out is what dealt the most damage. This almost definitively drove everyone away from ang. if you want to read the tweets and replies here it is. it isn't full of receipts like a typical callout but it does lead into the subsequent events.

Something important to note is the people turning against ang have their own taboo aspects and i want to point those out. tai has an obsession with a character from venture bros that is a "redeemed pedophile", vince (former friend of ang who was lamenting in the comments of tais tweet) was allegedly into monster furry porn so egregious that it made others call him a zoophile. my point here is that these people who crucified ang had their own questionable fictional tastes but justified it for their own benefit, their own moral stance doesn't hold up. That is not me passing judgement, just an aspect of the behaviors exhibited to consider that most people learning about the issue don't know about.

what happens next is a domino effect of people responding again i urge you to read the doc, this is the point i think that people turned on ang BECAUSE of invader zim. More of jera's friends get dragged in to antagonize ang, something important to remember is this was deliberate attacking they did not leave ang alone.

It starts to cross over into reality with holly (creator of lemonhead and lollipup, if youre familiar) who makes a callout post tagging all of ang's real friends and employers. Holly exhibited some strange behaviors in their relationship with Ang which is all documented but again, I am just focusing on the callouts.

Something I want to stress as Ang does in the document is that while Holly did go after their irl support system they did not get them fired from any job at this point for any online behavior. This is however setting up the eventual blacklisting that Ang suffered from, preventing them from work because of the public spectacle. Holly's narrative that Ang claimed they were fired for this did however impact some of their relations specifically from spindlehorse who believed ang was using them as a scapegoat and eventually viv cut off communication with them.

Ang worked on the mighty magiswords show and the show creator, kyle carrozza, allegedly spread their private nsfw content with coworkers and DID fire them for that reason after the callouts. This is the first documented case that I'm aware of of Ang being fired for this specifically. Here is Ang's account of it.

I want to highlight holly's response and call to action here, as it proves that this was not done out of a genuine need to keep others safe (or that ang was ever dangerous to begin with) but because of petty reasons. especially considering the behavior documented.

What happens after is an inability to get and keep jobs and being cut off from their health insurance. No, invader zim fans didn't get ang killed (they were a rather big part of it but alone that is not the issue). According to their friend puppy on twitter it wasn't just social backlash, it was also the flaws of the US healthcare system. It was unfortunately interconnected, especially when it's an industry that hinges on connections.

You can have your opinions on ang's content. You can have your opinions on how they responded. You can believe ang is leaving out a lot of information (based on all the info provided in the document im hard pressed to believe that is the case, but i digress) and you can believe that the industry can choose what content they think is permissible to work with (though the industry has and still does protect active predators, and people pick and choose which individuals they want to blacklist. rebecca sugar, anyone?)

The bottom line is this didnt start out as a moral issue, it started as a personal issue between friends. morality and fiction were simply an easy selling point, buzzwords to get people to rally on their side. the fact remains it was a years long orchestrated attack on someone that ultimately impacted their health and later their life.

#this is a little disorganized but i tried my best #i cant find all the links unfortunately a lot of this is quite old and twitter is like. borderline unusable #if you have questions you can ask there is a lot more that i didnt wanna overload this post with

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outofgloom · 8 months

Text

RUPTURE

After twelve days at sea, the others began to notice the change in the sky. Only slight at first, an odd roughening at the horizon, but steadily it got worse.

Kio on kio we sailed, and the clouds began to do strange things, move in strange ways. I could never describe it well. Behind the clouds, lines traced up through the gray-blue haze. Dark patches here and there, and before you knew it…it wasn’t a sky anymore. It was a barrier, a wall that went up, up, and never ended.

Some of the passengers quailed at the sight. Others stared transfixed. One of them–the scholar Eyrsuk–leapt overboard and tried to swim away. They fished him out of the water, and Shuldak, the ringleader of my captors, commanded him to be hung from a hook on the mast, "to let him dry off".

"There are no stars here," I remember Eyrsuk babbling...

The ship’s crew showed no great surprise, of course. They were Carekxans, not bound by the Edicts. They lived their lives on the wide and terrible sea, and most had probably set foot on those alien shores more than once, though they knew better than to speak of it openly. They saw the world for what it was and was not, and accepted this. I admired them, though they served my captors for now.

An eerie calm fell as we went on, and oars were produced to finish the journey. The shore grew closer; even with my failing eyesight I could see it now, rising in segmented pillars from the water, crusted with the residue of eons. I stood on the foredeck with the Caraga, the ship’s elder-captain, perhaps the closest thing to what I am, a Turaga of the Matoran. We were not alone, of course. Shuldak and his bruisers were ever-present, but he wisely gave the Caraga space.

"Where," the captain asked me in the characteristic flat tone. My memory was still clear, though my eyes were dim. I gestured north, along the shoreline. The groove there was well-camouflaged unless you knew to look for it. The Caraga nodded and made signs to the rowers.

"Very good, Turaga," Shuldak called from his place, lounging at the stern. "Your cooperation is noted."

Eyrsuk complained lamely from the mast. "We shouldn’t be here…" He kept his gaze stubbornly fixed upon the deck.

"You are very right," I said to him as I made my way down to midships. Shuldak grinned his wide Phynaran grin, and I saw that he had applied the red markings to his face; markings of the Pridak, which were now forbidden in his homeland.

Here though, on the margins of the world, he could show his true colors.

We made landfall an hour later, and my captors brought us ashore–myself and two Matoran they had taken hostage in order to compel me, a Ga-Matoran and a Ba-Matoran. They had been kept below for most of the trip, despite my protest. I did my best to minister to them while Shuldak spoke with the Caraga. The three Steltaxian bruisers stood over us, waiting obediently until their employer returned. In the end, Eyrsuk stayed on the ship with the crew; some excuse about amending his charts. Shuldak barked laughter and called him a coward and "no true Phynaran", but left him alone. Finally it was time.

The staircase was still there, carved out of the strange metalstone. It brought back many memories; how my brothers of Stone and Iron had marveled at it when we first came there, had tested their powers against it…

We began to climb, and I was reminded that the stairs were not made for beings like us. Each step was a bio deep and almost half a bio tall: a staircase for giants. My joints are not what they used to be, and so the Matoran were obliged to help me up each step. They were both trying to be very brave.

My mind wandered as we climbed, back before the journey, back to my hut in the lower district of Metru Prynak, when all this started.

The clamor of the Great Port was diminishing, and I was retiring for the night. The knock at the door startled me out of a doze, and the crack of the frame splintering inward brought me fully awake. A figure crammed itself arm, head, and shoulders into the room and laid hold of me. I burned through its wrist with my plasma-fire, and it dropped me roughly on the pavement. I prepared to flash-burn my attacker's eyes next, but then I saw the other bruisers, and the two Matoran they held, limbs stretched taut.

"No more violence, Turaga," a voice said. "I have a job for you."

Shuldak had not worn the red markings then.

"Job?" I rubbed my bruised chest. "I'm as old and broken-down a Turaga as you’ll find hereabouts. My job is to ministrate to the Matoran workers and to lead the Amaja on the odd months. I’m fit for no better duty these days." I coughed for emphasis.

"The service I require is navigational in nature. You were a seafarer once, a traveler to far shores, I believe. 'Toa Triox and his brothers', the story goes. I intend to retrace your steps."

I stared at the Phynaran, considered lunging at him, trying to weld his smug smile shut. Maybe I could've done it, got away...but the Matoran would surely not survive. My duty was to them. And anyways, I was weak...

"That journey cost me much, Phynaran," I said after a few moments. "It was the last journey I ever took."

"Not the last, no. You’ll make one more. With me. To the place where you and your brothers ended the Void Storm, all those millennia ago..."

Up we went, and the sloped staircase took us closer to the wall of the world. Shuldak was ahead with two of his guards, and the third Steltaxian brought up the rear. We kept a steady pace, but not too fast, which I was grateful for. Shuldak was a patient Phynaran and very methodical, I had found. Even so, I did not fully understand his plan yet.

When we came to the first landing, I began to understand more. The stairs ended in a wide platform carved into the slope. At the other end of the platform, the stairs continued.

In the center of the platform, there stood a Titan.

Solid as bedrock, clad in a mountain of gleaming gray armor. Two mighty hands rested atop the haft of an immense hammer. Blue eyes gazed upon us out of a strange mask.

I betrayed myself then, foolishly. I stepped forward and called out, "Axoss, it’s me, Triox! You must help me and these Matoran, as you helped me and my brothers before. We–"

A hand smothered me, and the Matoran cowered away from the bruiser as he lifted me into the air, covering my mouth. Strangely, the Titan did not move. I struggled feebly, got free for a moment:

"Axoss, quickly!"

"Hear me," said Shuldak, who I realized had advanced to stand before the figure. The two other guards stood with weapons ready, but the Titan wasn’t looking at them, nor at me. Shuldak was holding something: a round, flat stone.

"I bear this Tablet of Transit, of the Order of the Pridak," he said, speaking in a form of Archaic Matoric, "and I therefore have right of passage, both me and those accompanying me. Stand aside, warden, and let us pass."

No sooner were the words spoken, than the Titan was gone. Vanished into thin air. Shuldak turned to me and smiled very wide.

"Weren’t expecting that, were you, Turaga?" he said. My heart sank.

"How did you…"

"Recovery is my business," he replied. "Someone had to clean up all those wrecks from the Wars of Order, and wouldn’t you know, there’s a lot of treasure to be found. This though…" He turned the tablet over in his hands. "This is on an entirely different level of value."

"What do you intend to do with it?" I asked.

"That’s not important. What is important, however, is that trick you pulled. You didn’t mention a guardian."

A hand signal from the Phynaran, and the Ba-Matoran was lifted yelping into the air by one of the bruisers, arms stretched painfully tight.

"Any more information you’d like to divulge?"

I was beaten.

"The guardian…" I stammered. "The guardian watches over the Opening, high above. She met us when we first came, and aided us. You have everything now, I swear."

"Hm…" Shuldak rubbed his chin. The Ba-Matoran cried out again, and I heard one of his joints pop.

"On my title as a Turaga, I swear it!" I begged. "There is no more. Please, spare the Matoran."

Shuldak looked at me, then nodded to the bruiser. The Ba-Matoran dropped, and I stumbled over to him. His arm was injured, but nothing worse. I welded the elbow-joint back together with a blast of plasma. It would have to do.

"Turaga," Shuldak said, tapping his clawed foot, "if you betray me again, these two Matoran will be flung from the top of the slope. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good."

We continued up the staircase, one laborious step at a time. The minutes blurred into hours. At long last, the stairs leveled out into a flat mesa which stretched inward, under the curve of the wall. Here and there, the plain was dotted with strange pillar-shapes and great piles of rubble, broken off from the wall above in ages past.

Shuldak waited expectantly. I moved to the head of the group and began to pick my way over the uneven ground. The two Matoran moved with me, to keep me from stumbling. Over my shoulder, I called back:

"A walking stick would be most welcome."

"Your attendants will have to do, Turaga," Shuldak replied. "Last time I gave you your stick, you nearly burned a hole in one of my guards. I haven’t forgotten."

"Yes, yes…"

I picked out the trail slowly, working my way back through my recollections. My muscles complained, and I was out of breath, but I went on. I had to do it, for the Matoran, though I worried still that Shuldak would not release them once it was over. Ah, I was tired…

Why had she not helped us? Many millennia had passed, but surely she would still remember. All throughout our journey here, I had staked my hope on it, and now...

"Turaga? Turaga, are you alright?" The Ga-Matoran was shaking me, her voice a whisper. Some time had passed, and I had dozed on my feet. The Ba-Matoran stood just ahead, stock-still. It was dim here, and the wall was much closer now, looming over us oppressively. We had just rounded the edge of a great heap of stones, I saw, and…

And the Titan was there again, just as before. Motionless between two great pillars she stood, not a stone’s throw away. Her blue eyes shone in the gloom.

I glanced back. Shuldak and his guards were approaching, but they could not see the Titan yet. I chanced a hoarse whisper:

"Axoss, if you know me, then please…The Matoran and I are under duress. We are innocent. These others seek the Opening of their own accord. Test my words and know them to be true."

"Hush, Turaga!" the Ga-Matoran hissed. Impudent, but entirely deserved. Shuldak and his guards rounded the corner, and he fixed me with a quizzical look. I gestured ahead, and he saw the figure of the Titan. I waited to see what would happen…

Nothing happened. Shuldak stepped forward, drawing forth the tablet again, and spoke the same words. The Titan’s eyes burned in her face, and then she was gone again.

I cursed, inwardly, feeling fully betrayed by now. When my two brothers and I had come here long ago, stumbling beneath the raging wind of the Void Storm, we had encountered her–the Gray Titan Axoss–and she had been our guide. Through the terror of the hurricane, she had led us safely to our goal, to the source of the Storm. And afterward…when it was done…I–

"Well, Turaga," Shuldak said, interrupting my reverie, "that’s more like it. Although do I detect some disappointment in your face?"

"Not at all. I am here to cooperate."

"Much farther, is it?"

"Not far, no."

"That’s good! We have made good time–"

"Shuldak," I said hurriedly, "I must ask you something."

"Mm…I suppose I’m feeling generous. Ask, then."

"Why do you seek the Opening?"

Shuldak grinned slowly.

"Ah," he said, "the ‘Opening’. I heard you call it that. Such a Matoran turn of phrase. In the legends of my kind, it is called the Great Door."

"I have never heard such legends."

"Of course not. They are Phynaran, the secret seer-legends, from the time when our people ruled our lands and sought out every nook and cranny, before the time of the Oppressors." He spat out the last word.

My eyes widened. "You are a revolutionary, then?" I asked.

"Hah! Maybe…" A change came over him, and he began to pace, rubbing his clawed hands together. "I trust you know the history of the Barraki, Turaga?" he continued. "How the Lords of Order were raised up, and then how they betrayed Mata Nui and were destroyed for their arrogance?"

"It is no history to me, Shuldak," I replied. "I am as old as the Wars of Order are young. You must be fresher than I thought."

Shuldak’s eyes narrowed slightly and twitched. He continued:

"Well, that is only the simple Matoran version. Phynaran legends tell it different, and truer: How the Lord Pridak, our firstborn and the greatest of the Barraki, was elevated so far in his authority that he saw the shape of the world." Shuldak stopped pacing, and his voice fell almost to a whisper. "And in perceiving that shape," he continued, "Pridak saw also beyond the world, beyond the great barriers, and the knowledge he found there was so mighty, so terrible, that the Great Spirit himself trembled and was afraid. Then, Mata Nui’s goatdog Makuta, being jealous of Lord Pridak, rose up and slew him."

"Beyond the walls of the world…" I mused. "Shuldak, I assure you, that Opening will not grant you knowledge, and it will not bring back days of old. It is an endless maze of shadows, and…and the...and They–” My voice wavered, as it always did, and I shuddered, "They will not let you pass."

"I know of whom you speak," Shuldak said. "The Zyglak infest the walls of our world, gnawing at it, wallowing in their diseased flesh. But they are no Rahi. I know they listen to reason."

"You’ve had dealings with…with Them?" I blurted out.

"Hah! My business is recovery, as I said, and you will find that the deepest of seas are not uninhabited. How do you think I acquired this trinket?" He spun the Tablet of Transit on his finger. I had no reply.

"Well," he said, "I believe your question is answered. Now it’s time we made the last leg of our journey. Lead the way."

Through the dry ruins of stone, deeper into the dimness we trudged, and my hope was all but gone. Soon, we would reach our destination, and Shuldak would enact whatever insane plan he had in mind, and the Matoran and I would be of no more use. I was too weak and too old to do anything. My limbs ached, and the scars in the metal of my armor were starting to bother me again. Still, I led on, delaying the inevitable. The ground sloped upward slightly for a time, and then down in a wide scoop. There was the wall, as close as ever, with crags rising in layers up and over us, as if carved from stone with giant chisels.

And in that wall, there was an Opening.

Even at a distance, it could be seen now: a hole in the wall of the world. Perfectly round, boring straight back into darkness. I shivered with memories, memories of the last time I had stood there with my brothers, bowed against the terrible winds of the Void Storm which rushed endlessly into the hole, endlessly into nothing...

Behind us, back in the real world, the skies had been in turmoil. Hurricane had covered the Continent and threatened to drown the islands of the world as the atmosphere was torn and devoured by the Rupture that had been made somewhere beyond that dark portal. That was why we had been sent there, through roiling seas and sheets of lightning, sent to alien shores at the end of the world. Just us three, sent to find and seal the breach…

Shuldak wasted no time in closing the distance. He took the lead now, and his guards jogged us along with him, straight toward the Opening. My muscles burned, and my breath came in gasps. The Matoran did their best to help, but there was little to be done. Finally, Shuldak called a halt. The Opening was straight ahead, across an open area flanked by a few cracked pillars. There was no sign of life here. No sign of the Titan either. I was perplexed. What could have happened?

As we approached the Opening, my question was soon answered.

What from a distance had seemed to be just another broken pillar was actually the back of a gigantic chair, hewn from the gray metalstone, facing directly into the dark of the Opening. And on that chair there sat a figure. My spirit quailed, and the Matoran covered their faces in terror.

Skeletal. A mountain of rusted armor, scarred all over, and now crumbling into dust. The immense hammer rested upon emaciated knees, its surface blackened by corrosion; a disease that I recognized…

Shuldak beckoned to his guards, who took up positions on either side of the chair, then he stepped forward carefully, tablet held aloft.

"Warden!" he called out. "Can you hear me?"

Silence.

He repeated the litany in Archaic, as he had before. Nothing changed. He peered up into the gigantic face, nudged a gigantic foot. Then, all at once, Shuldak laughed.

"It seems fortune is with us, my friends! Time wears down all wards. Even here, at the end of the world."

"It seems you have achieved all you set out to do," I said, stepping closer.

"Indeed, and you have served your purpose admirably–"

"I have. And now, honorable Phynaran, of the same kind and core as the Pridak himself, I charge you to uphold your promise to me, to release these Matoran, lest wrath seek you out."

Shuldak blinked, surprised, I hoped, at the ancient invocation of his honor. I had lived among the Phynaran peoples long enough to know it.

"It is true that they will be of little use where we are going," he said after a moment. "They may return to the ship, if they can find the way."

Without a moment's pause, I turned to the Ga-Matoran and Ba-Matoran, placed my hands on their shoulders.

"You have done your duties well, and I thank you. Your valor is deserving of new names, and if I am ever again in Metru Prynak, I shall administer them myself. Until then, remember the path we have taken, and return to the sea."

"Turaga," the Ga-Matoran whispered. "Will you be alright?"

"I’m not sure," I replied. "But you must leave while you can. Go quickly. Do not stop."

They hesitated, glancing between me and the smiling Phynaran, then they turned and ran, disappearing up the path.

"Now, Turaga, I have another job for you."

Fear iced through me as I turned to the Phynaran.

"What more could you possibly require?"

"A guide. Of all creatures, it seems that you are the only one living who has walked upon the hallowed ground beyond the Great Door. You shall lead on as before."

"I can’t…I can’t go back in there."

"The Matoran are close still. My guards can bring them back if you continue to require motivation."

"No, Shuldak, I mean…you don’t know what’s in there. I’ve tried to tell you. If we go in, we won’t return. I barely escaped the...the Z-Zy..." I could not pronounce the name. "And that was only because…because…"

"Nonsense. We are well equipped for the journey, and as I said, I have certain experience with those that you so fear."

He turned away from me, away from the mummified body of the Titan, turned to the darkness of the Opening, and gestured for me to follow. Cold air washed over me as I took a halting step, knowing that I was going to my death. Shuldak took another step forward, then another, into the darkness…

Blue eyes opened in an ancient mask, and a voice rang out over the stones:

"Shol of Old Phynar, hear me," the voice said, and Shuldak whirled, eyes wide. The Titan had not moved. Only the eyes glowed dimly now.

"That name is no more," Shuldak hissed. The tablet was in his hand again. He waved it back and forth, trying to regain his composure. "Ahem, forgive me, warden. As you see, I bear this Tablet of Transit, of the Order of the Pridak–"

"I am bound to guard this gate," the voice boomed, "and to destroy any who cross its threshold, from within or without."

I saw Shuldak’s posture change. No longer magnanimous. "You are bound to follow the Edicts of Transit, from of old," he said. "By the Order of the Pridak, I–"

"I am a bearer of the Mask of Truth, Phynaran Shol. I test the truth of your words, and they are lacking."

Shuldak bared his teeth in an unpleasant smile.

"Why do you not recognize my claim?"

The Titan’s mask pulsed faintly. The tall blade affixed to the mask’s forehead hummed a high-pitched sound, dividing truth from falsehood. "I see your core, Phynaran, and through it. I see the world you have constructed to justify your belief. Old Phynar is no more, and the Pridakian Orders are dispelled. Your claim is null."

"I see." Shuldak stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Forgive my impertinence, warden, but can you see me? Your eyes glow, but if I’m not mistaken, they are scarred behind your mask."

"I am a bearer of the Mask of Truth, and truth is sight."

"Well, my eyes tell a different story. You are old, warden, and much damaged, and there is rust upon your hammer. The Void Storm was not kind to you, it seems, just like your friend here." He gestured toward me. "Would you not rather rest and leave your burden aside, just this once?"

The mighty head moved slowly, creakingly. The Titan’s blind gaze settled upon Shuldak.

"As I said, I am bound."

"Very well."

The bruisers acted with surprising speed, hurling themselves forward at the stone chair, arrays of weapons sprouting from their arms. I fell back as a mighty sound echoed off the wall above, and the ground shook with the impact. Choking dust filled the air. Then, it was over. The dust settled, and the combatants stepped back.

The stone seat was pulverized into broken rubble. Empty. A moment of bewilderment passed…

And then the gigantic right fist that swung down from out of nowhere caved in the head of the first Steltaxian, and the backhand which followed sent the second bruiser flying away to smash through a stone pillar in the distance. The Titan Axoss was there–the Axoss I had known. Still as wizened as the apparition that had sat before us, but animated now by the same grim violence I had witnessed when she laid waste to the encroaching Zyglak all those years ago. She was still blind, but it didn’t seem to matter. Her mask glowed with a revealing light.

The third Steltaxian roared and sprang forward across the rubble, and her hammer split the air to–

–I was being dragged by the neck, claws dug into my shoulder, feet skipping helplessly across the ground as Shuldak hauled me away. I could not even cry out. We crossed the space toward the dark opening. It rose up and over us, and cool darkness fell on my face, and all the horrible memories broke loose once more…

The black maze was filled with an avalanche of sound. Wind tore at our bodies like the teeth of an animal. Desperately, my brothers and I had searched down the winding passageways and through empty vaulted corridors, harried always by the rage of the Void Storm…and the hateful eyes of those who had caused it.

Axoss was lost. She had been with us for most of the maze, but then They had finally caught up. Out of the dark They had sprung, and They hated her most of all.

"Flee!" she roared as the Zyglak overran her and blue lightning crackled from her fists and from the head of her hammer. We fled, turn after turn after turn in the mindless dark, until finally, we emerged into a great honeycombed place, vast beyond belief.

And we found it there–

Shuldak had me under his arm now. He was clattering down the passageway, and the light from the outside world was growing smaller. He was taking me back, back into the black maze. I would not go back. My arms hung limp at first, but not anymore. His knee swung past my hand, and when it returned for the next step, it met the plasma-torch of my outstretched fingers.

He screamed and dropped me to the ground, cursing and stumbling. He made as if to grab me again, but stopped as he looked back toward the opening of the tunnel.

"You’re a coward, Turaga," he hissed. "Too cowardly to face the knowledge behind the Great Door. Well, we shall see how I fare."

He kicked me hard, rolling me over with the force of it, and I was…I was…

They were pouring in from every opening, teeth gnashing, eyes blazing. Their touch was poison, disease. They had already touched me and Ahak, and I felt it in my armor.

I burned them. I seared them. I poured forth plasma-fire upon them in great waves, but the wind hindered me. Relentlessly it howled out of the darkness, into the darkness. The Rupture stood above us in the high wall like a great mouth, and the wind howled into it, devouring the life of the world. It had to be stopped.

Behind us, Thu had bound himself to the ground with iron chains, holding fast against the gale. His metal seemed the most effective in sealing the breach, and so we defended him while he worked. Ahak worked relentlessly to close off the honeycomb passages with stone, but there were so many, and I could see that he was flagging. They had touched him first, back in the passageway. His armor was already turning gray, flaking off, but he continued nevertheless. By this time, Thu had fashioned a metal lattice and was raising it up into the opening, buffeted by the wind.

"Almost done!" he called out.

A spear whizzed out of the darkness and buried itself in Ahak’s chest. I watched as the light in his eyes died, and his body was battered away into the Rupture.

Thu saw as well. His cry of grief was lost in the cacophony. An iron half-sphere formed around him as more spears descended, splitting the chains that tethered him down.

"Triox!" he called out as the hurricane wind picked him up and sucked him and the great spreading mass of protodermic iron into the breach. "Seal it!"

And I...I tried to...I fought and...I wanted to...

I did as he asked. I poured rays of plasmatic energy from every fingertip and joint, burning plasma-fire from my heartlight and mouth and from my eyes. To the limit, to the breaking point, until my mask melted away and my eyes were scorched black, and my armor fell in gouts of slag.

And the Rupture was welded shut, a great scar of white-hot metal.

Then I fell headlong in the sudden, deafening silence, and tears sizzled on the scorched metal of my face–

I awakened on my back, chest throbbing. I sat up and wheezed a bit, but found that nothing was broken. I was not in the tunnel anymore. I was at the entrance, just beyond the darkness. I backed up, feet scraping on the stone, and found that I was not alone.

Axoss sat cross-legged behind me, over me. Her eyes were closed, hammer laid across her knees. Despite her stillness, I detected the rise and fall of her breathing. The remains of her attackers were…here and there. I didn’t look too close.

"That is the second time you have retrieved me from that hole," I said at length. "Thank you."

She nodded. Moments passed.

"So, what now?" I said, settling myself on the stone beside her. "Shuldak is...he's still in there, right?"

"Yes, he is. Let us wait here for a time, and see what transpires."

"And the Matoran? Are they alright?"

"They are safe, back along the path. It is the truth."

"After everything that has happened in the past few days, waiting patiently here is not my first choice, but you are built for patience, aren't you?"

"Wait with me, please," Axoss said.

We waited together. Moments became minutes, and minutes piled into an hour, maybe more. Axoss meditated, and I half-dozed. It was perhaps the most rest I’d gotten since I had left Metru Prynak. All at once, Axoss broke the silence:

"When I found you the last time," she said slowly, deliberately, as if she had planned the words, "after the Void Storm had subsided and the Zyglak were fled, you asked me a question."

"Yes?" I cleared my throat groggily, rubbed my eyes.

"You could barely speak–your mouth and throat were burned from inside–but still you asked: 'Did I do right?'"

"I think I remember."

"I did not answer. I was dying of the flesh-eating plague, and the only thing in my mind was to remove from that dark place, to die in the open air. So I did not answer, nor care. Even after we emerged and you gave up your power in order to heal me, and became Turaga, still I did not care. There was no right or wrong. Only duty. You had fulfilled your duty."

"At the time, I did not see it that way," I replied. "My brothers were dead...are dead. Was that the fulfillment of their duty?"

"It was, and of your own."

"Well, I confess that I could never balance that equation. The Rupture was sealed, but the...but the Z-Zy--" I stammered, coughed. "but They remained. And my brothers were dead."

There was no reply.

I continued: "We were the only Toa left on the Continent, you know, when the Storm started. I don't think I ever told you...There were already few of us, at the time, and somehow no one foresaw the calamity. For many years I wondered why no one saw it, neither seer nor prophet..."

"The Rupture came from beyond the world, beyond our stars. It could not have been foreseen."

"That makes sense, I suppose. Still, it couldn't have happened at a worse time. If we'd had just one more Toa with us...maybe..."

"These thoughts serve no purpose, not for those who serve as the tools of Mata Nui. All that matters is what is."

"I'm not so sure about that. I think it matters to me--what might have been..."

The titan frowned slightly, and I smiled, having managed to break her usually solemn expression..

I continued: "When I healed you, Axoss, and gave up my power, I did not expect to survive. I was burned, inside and out. I could not see, nor breathe. I only knew that I was ending, and that I needed to leave something behind...something more. There was no clever strategy, no sense of duty in the act."

"Intended or not, that choice saved us both. The transformation revitalized you, and the healing power halted the progression of the plague that afflicted me."

"Well, 'revitalized' is a strong word. My scars can attest to that." I rubbed my sore limbs. "And it could not restore your sight."

"I serve the Mask of Truth. It provides all the sight I need. In the end, by fulfilling your duty, you enabled me to continue mine."

"Duty is not kind, Axoss. Not kind to us."

There was a long pause, and the mountain of armor shifted slightly. A long breath exhaled.

"No, it is not kind."

"So what do you say now, after all these years? Did I do right?"

Axoss did not answer. Footsteps sounded in the dark passage, far away. Their echoes were approaching, overlapping, and other noises followed. Clattering and scraping, the rasp of metal on stone, the murmur of distant voices.

Louder and louder it became, and I felt my muscles tightening with fear. Louder and louder, until all at once, Shuldak stumbled from the Opening and fell to the ground gasping.

His eyes raved in his skull. His mouth moved, but no sound came. His hands opened and closed on nothing–his tablet was gone. There were marks on his armor, from head to toe, and the red paint that had adorned his face was scratched and peeling. Peeled off, in some places, as if by many razors.

Axoss opened her blind eyes and inclined her face to the miserable Phynaran. After a few moments, Shuldak’s gaze met hers, and he grew unnaturally still.

"In an ancient time," she said at last, "I would not have hesitated to destroy you now, Shol of Old Phynar. Could not have hesitated. Such was the strength of the bond of my duty. But now, a change has come, and I may choose, at least, the method of judgment. Do you comprehend this, Phynaran?"

The eyes blinked, the mouth moved. Axoss saw the truth of it. The noises in the passage had continued as she spoke. There was a skittering sound in the dark. Many dragging limbs and spines. Something was crawling along the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling, all around.

Red eyes opened in the blackness, just beyond the reach of the light, a hundred of them at least. I shrank back as a familiar voice issued:

"Give him to us," it said in tones of hatred. "He is a child of the Pridak, that chosen one of Mata Nui, whom we curse. Pridak who slew many of our kind in elder days. This one is a bargainer, a dealmaker, a seeker of amnesty and allegiance in exchange for our knowledge of the beyond." A harsh croaking, which is Their laughter, followed this. "But we do not palter with such. We will rend this one and devour his core. Give him to us, warden."

Axoss reached down and took Shuldak in one great hand, lifting him bodily. She held him toward the darkness, and all his cunning was gone. She spoke:

"Your violence would fulfill my duty to the Great Spirit. Will you send him on the Red Journey for me, this day?"

A hiss and curses poured from the portal. Shuldak hung in the air, staring, mouth agape.

"Keep him then," the voice said at last. "We shall not partake in your duty, which is accursed. We see that your eyes are dim, warden, and your body grows ever frailer. What strength have you left in those limbs, after all these years?"

"Strength enough to slay another ten thousand of your kind, Zyglak, and to clean the rust from my hammer with your bones. I am bound to this duty for eternity. I do not waver."

"Neither we. Neither we…We gnaw at the world even now, though your Toa sealed the breach. One day we shall open it again, and then–"

Axoss laughed suddenly, a terrible peal of laughter, and a flash of white light issued from her mouth, blazed down the tunnel, and in the radiance I looked upon Them once more, and the air was filled with the cries of Their burning. They fled away, away into the dark…

When my sight returned to normal again, I realized that Shuldak was gone as well. His figure careened away across the flat, back toward the horizon.

Axoss had let him go.

======

The Amaja was in shadow by now. I stood creakily and retrieved the various stones. The Matoran were filtering out, some to their night-tasks in the city above, but most to rest. A few remained to speak with me.

"Your stories are strange, Turaga," the first said, a Fa-Matoran, "different from the legends of the other elders."

"I expect so. I’m afraid I am not a good teller of legends."

"No, no. We look forward to your tellings on the odd months."

"Turaga," another spoke up, this time a Ce-Matoran, "What became of the two Matoran, the Ga and the Ba? Were they accosted by the Phynaran as he fled?"

"They were returned safely to the ship, along with myself. The Phynaran…he did not fare quite as well."

"Is it true that the touch of Zyglak eats away at one’s armor and flesh?"

"It is true, and the Phynaran Shuldak would tell you so, if he could still speak."

"So he lived?"

"Yes, he lived, though the Carexkans boxed him up for the return journey. Axoss accompanied me back to the shore to make sure of it. The sailors seemed to understand what her presence meant. I believe it was not the first time they had encountered her, or one like her. Who can say?"

"And did she ever answer your question?" the Ce-Matoran asked.

"What question?"

"Whether you did right, long ago."

"Ah, no…No, she didn’t."

"Of course he did right," the Fa-Matoran piped up. "He saved the world from the Void Storm. The Fire Turaga told the legend last month. It's not a hard question."

"Well, maybe not for you," I said.

"Did she go back then, to continue her duty?" the Ce-Matoran continued.

"What do you think?"

"Well, I hope so, because the Zyglak frighten me. But at the same time, I think it's...it's a hard thing."

"How so?"

"To be bound to a duty like that, I mean. For all time. To never...to never be able to rest."

I realized that there were tears in my eyes. When had that happened...

"I think so too," I said. "But maybe one day...one day our tasks will all be done, and then we can rest."

The scars hurt, in my armor and flesh. My throat was raw from too much talking, and my eyes were tired from too much seeing.

"I've never thought about it. Do you really think so, Turaga?"

Duty is not kind, Axoss. Not kind to us.

"I hope so."

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