#I’ll provide him with as much booze as he needs just break my back sir

[semisgroupie]

catching up with gokurakugai and I’m stumbling upon THIS FINE HUNK OF MAN

#venus speaks 🗣 #MEOW #he reminds me of aizawa #but man oh man this man needs to get in my guts #I’ll provide him with as much booze as he needs just break my back sir

[not-my-givenchy]

Tragic Fate pt. 4 (Tony Stark x Reader)

Summary: Saying you and Tony Stark had a tumultuous relationship was the understatement of the Century, but no one can discount the love you shared and the good you provided to each others lives.

A/N: This features a young Tony Stark, before his parent’s death, and WELL before the avengers. Here is what I think is going to be the last installment. If anyone wants to request a scene between Tony and the reader let me know tho, I’m always open to suggestions!

Word Count: 3,860

Warnings: mild cursing...alcohol use

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

The sun had long set, and you tiptoed back to your desk desperate to avoid your associate Mark. It was already well past midnight, and all you wanted was to be curled in bed. Investment banking was exactly as you imagined it would be, boring and time consuming. 

“Y/N!” Mark’s door was closed, but his shout always managed to find you. 

In an attempt to quell your annoyance you take a deep breathe before pushing your head through the door. The city lights poured in through the window behind his desk practically blinding you. Mark was a large man only 2 years your senior, but the rigors of the job were already taking there toll on him. His hooded eyes remained fixed on the papers before him even after you had fully entered the room. 

Desperate to end the encounter as soon as possible you let out a meager cough. “Hi, I heard you call me?” 

“Yes, I want Ryan to sit in on the pitch tomorrow, so leave the Mitsui files on his desk before you leave.” He flipped through the papers still not looking up. 

Ryan was a little Mark in the making always sucking up and undermining your work. “Oh,” you paused to debate the risk of arguing, “I was hoping to sit in on the pitch…seeing as I’ve been the lead analyst on it since the beginning—.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed as he looked up. “Ryan has been here longer,” waving you from the room, “I’ve made up my mind.” 

“Sir, if I may—,” you began. 

“No, you may not.” His deep voice filled the office and with a huff he turned his focus back to the papers before him. 

You had already committed to fighting for the case, so you stood your ground. With a deep breathe in you rolled your shoulders back. “Ryan and I actually started on the same day, so if your decision is going to be based on seniority then I would like to remind you that I am senior to him on the Mitsui case.” Your voice matched the ferocity that Mark’s had. 

Mark’s hands folded and he leaned onto his elbows. His bloodshot eyes inspecting you, and his mouth twisted into a tight smirk before addressing you. “Well, I need you working on the Franklin report.” He leaned back in his chair laughing lowly. “If you can manage to finish it prior to the meeting, then I’ll consider allowing you in on the pitch.” He emphasized. 

The Franklin project had only been announced this morning, meaning it would take months of collaboration before it could be drafted. “Mark, you know that’s impossible.” 

“Well I guess you should cancel your plans tonight then.” His smirk was sinister, and you knew he was giving you an impossible task to keep you from the Mitsui meeting.

Turning on your heels, you swallowed your discontent and left the office before you could say something vulgar. Knowing your half mug of coffee wouldn’t be enough, you made your way back to the break room. Two other analysts stood blocking the cherished coffee machine gaping at the news. Not having time for pleasantries, you tried to nudge your way between them. 

“It’s crazy right,” one of them directed at you. 

You raised your eyebrows in hopes that your absence of a response would speed up the conversation. 

Josh, at least thats what you think his name is, motioned to the T.V. “The Starks…they’re dead.” 

Burning coffee caught in your throat, causing you to spit it all over your mouth. “What?” You coughed now fully focused on the breaking news before you. 

The newscaster was somber; your mind blurred, and you begged yourself to focus on the words coming out of her mouth. But you couldn’t pull your focus from the firefighter shuffling around a smoking car in the distance. Soon the camera panned from the police shuffling under the caution tape to the coroners van replacing the ambulance. When it cut back to the young reporter you finally made out her words. “At this time we can confirm that Howard and Maria Stark have died as the result of a tragic—.” 

Shaking your head back to your now empty mug you told yourself. The coffee pot shook in your hand as you refilled your mug unable to shake the reoccurring what if scenarios flashing through your mind.

“Are you ok?” The analyst asked motioning towards your shaking hand. 

“Um yea,” you chuckled awkwardly, “I must’ve had one too many cups.”

He nodded before turning back to the news. You took that as your opening to escape, and rushed back to your desk. Deep breathes you reminded yourself shakily. But your hands wouldn’t stop shaking making it near impossible to start the Franklin report. Trying to rub the pain from your face with clammy hands you thought back to the last time you had seen Tony. It had been a little over a year.

—————————————

Your eyes searched the crowd before you. Felix was throwing an end of the semester bash and you desperately wanted to thank him for the free booze. Being with Tony had taught you how to get along with the 1%, and much to Jennifer’s delight you and Felix had finally grown close. It also helped that Felix was often in Jennifer’s room every time you found yourself there crying over your now ex. Plus, being in an arguable unhealthy relationship had opened your eyes to how amazing Felix was for your best friend. So when you finally spotted him in the sweaty room you were quick to run into his open arms.

“Felix!” You shouted into his shoulder over the thumping music. 

Your feet lifted from the ground as he shook you side to side. “Ravishing as always!” He shouted back. “Where is my love?” He exaggerated placing you back on the ground.

“Jenny!” You squealed with wide eyes. 

“Oh this just won’t work.” He tsked looking around. 

Your eyes met as the lightbulb when off in your head, “shoulders!” 

“Genius!” Felix shouted while kneeling down dramatically. It must’ve been a sight, you were both absolutely trashed, but somehow you managed to make it on his shoulders without falling. Felix pushed his way through the crowd as the two of you shouted your friends name. 

Yet to recognize anyone in the crowd, you soon realized how dangerously close your head was to the swinging chandelier. The heads were all one mass blur, and you lifted your hands and vigorously rubbed your eyes to try and focus. Felix stopped abruptly causing you to sway backwards and without your hands bracing on his shoulders there was a split second where you believed that you were going down. But Felix was one step ahead and had already begun to drop to a knee so you could slip off safely. Before you could look past to see why your quest had stopped abruptly, Felix moved to block your path. Your nose crashed into his broad shoulders and you cursed at the stinging pain.

“Felix,” You drawled trying to get his attention, but it was clear that he did not want you to see who he was talking too.

Despite his complaints, a hand managed to shove him aside, and suddenly you were face to face with the devil himself. He eyes were glossed over, and he ran a sweaty hand through his damp hair.

“Isn’t this a treat!” His eyes glistened with mischief as he tried to get you to smirk back. 

Protectively, Felix’s arm snaked around your shoulder. “I’m gonna find Jenny-fur—,” he slurred trying to offer you an out. 

You nodded approvingly and moved so that his arm fell from his shoulders. You weren’t going to let your history ruin your night of fun. 

 “Just shout if you need me.” Felix’s eyes threatening Tony before finally heading out. 

Tony’s hands managed to find your own, and your heart fluttered at the simple touch. The dance floor, Felix’s living room, was packed with sweaty bodies and you were slowly pushed together. Breathless, you leaned into his chest. Finals were over might as well allow yourself a little treat. And you danced. After that, the night became a blur. Tony bullied his way to the pong table. Your combined enthusiasm making up for your combined lack of skill. Soon he was cheering drink in your ear and you obliged chugging the sour beer down before slamming the cup onto the table. 

 You smacked the ball back into his hand. “It’s fine, we got this!” You cheered.

Neither of you had successfully landed a shot, and you went first hoping to break the streak. The ball slipped easily from your fingers before soaring into the air. Tony grabbed your arm, but the ball bounced off of a rim before landing on the ground. Your opponent laughed, and waited for Tony to miss as well. However, with a stroke of luck, Tony’s ball managed to find the target and plinked softly into the warm beer. Throwing your hands into the air, you jumped on Tony’s back hooting and hollering. That was the only success you had, and the game finished quickly but you were officially smashed. Suddenly the song switched, and Tony’s eyes lit up.  

His hands shook your shoulders. “You hear this shit!” 

With that, you both made your way to the dance floor. Together you jumped in the air and screamed the lyrics back and forth. The majority of the dance floor was drunk friends half crying half dancing, and the other half was comprised of couples eating each others faces. Meanwhile, Tony and you were busy making fools of yourselves and having a blast. When the song switched to another one you were equally as fond of, you grabbed Tony’s hand and tugged him with you towards the speaker.

“Lift me up!” You begged. 

His eyes twinkled and he grabbed your waist, hoisting you above his head. While you were in the air, your foot got tangled around something, but you were too busy laughing to notice. That is until Tony placed you on the ground and the music was cut. Looking down at the cord now tangled around your foot your eyes widened. With a hand covering your mouth your cheeks flushed red. Luckily this was common, so your penance was already on its way. Felix charged through the crowd bottle in hand — it was a crude mixture of punch and various types of alcohol. Around you everyone was chanting “redeem yourself”. 

Felix’s gaze was of devilish delight, and he thrust the bottle into your outstretched hands. The crowd silenced at the raise of his hand. “Y/N Y/L/N! You have committed the greatest sin, do you wish to redeem yourself?” Felix boomed through the now silent house. 

This was the first time you were the one in need of redemption, and you tried to swallow your laughter knowing Felix took redemption seriously. Instead you nodded vigorously before bending to one knee. The drink smelled foul, but it was already emptying into your stomach.  Around you everyone was hooting still chanting “redeem yourself,” and you couldn’t let them down. So you chugged desperately trying to empty the bottle in record time. Felix pulled you to your feet as you finished the last drop. 

He turned towards the crowd. “Do the people find this display sufficient?” He boomed. The partygoers hollered in response; satisfied, Felix fixed the speaker. The sound nearly blew out your eardrums, for you had forgotten how close you were to them. Standing in front of you, Felix looked at Tony’s arm around your shoulder and raised his brows. 

“I’m going to join Jennifer in the basement if you want to join.” He was sweet to offer you an out. 

“Oh Felix, thank you soooo much.” Your pulled him into a tight hug again. “I’m having a blast though, so I’ll find y’all later tonight ok.”

Felix winked before turning back from where he came. The basement was usually where the rich kids did their drugs, and you didn’t have a rich relative to bail you out so you were quick to avoid it. 

Tony’s arm snaked around your waist and pulled you close to his side. “Can we go somewhere else?” His lips dangerously close to your ear. 

Feeling his breathe on your ear, you leaned your back into his chest and nodded silently. His hands shifted to give your shoulders a light squeeze. Slowly, you turned to him and realized just how close you had become. The taste left in your mouth from the drink was foul, and too subconscious of your breath you just smiled up at the boy in front of you. Smiling, Tony tapped your nose playfully before interlocking your hands together. He was quick to pull you out of the sweaty room and towards the back door. 

“Tony,” you complained, “it’s December…and I’m drunk…and I don’t have my coat…and it’s cold.” You pouted planting your feet and pulling back on his arm. 

Tony spun on his heels; wordlessly, he pulled you in the other direction. It wasn’t until you were half way up the stairs that you realized where he was taking you. The hallway was empty, and the party roared below you. Soon enough, Tony was pushing his head into a bedroom. 

“All clear,” he whispered pushing his way in. 

Soon enough you were both laying side by side on the bed moving no further. His hand was intertwined with yours and your shoulders just barely brushed. Neither of you dared to speak, both staring absentmindedly at the ceiling. You had spent the night successfully ignoring the hurt pulling at your chest, but now it had returned. You tried to focus on the low thump of the music downstairs, hoping it would sober you up. The rising tempo matched that of your beating heart. The rational part of your brain begged you to stand and walk out on Tony. This was your chance to close the door on that chapter of your life and leave him questioning everything. Your brain replayed every photo of Tony’s hands on other women. However, your heart would take control and replace those with the memories of his hands on you, cherishing your body, worshiping your folds, and pressing his lips against every inch of you. You squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to shut it all off for a moment.

As if Tony could sense your qualms he interrupted your thoughts, “have you decided where you’re going to law school?”

Your eyes opened and you let out a deep sigh, “I’m not applying. I think I’m going to take a gap year or two.” 

You felt Tony shift beside you. Suddenly, you cursed yourself for not lying, but this was your Tony—he would’ve known. 

“Hey,” he whispered reaching over to stroke your cheek. It was a soft gesture and he turned to his side to better look at you. 

Turning to face him, you tried to ignore the way your heart swelled.

His eyes searched yours. “If it’s about money I can help.” He whispered. 

Your heart broke at the offer, “Tony I can’t take anymore of your money—.”

“Yes you can.” He rubbed his thumb across your cheek. “Please…let me.” His voice was desperate. The money his way of keeping you in his life. Now unable to meet his eyes, you looked down at your hands. They laid awkwardly between your chest and his. “It’s not even about money.” You whisper was uncertain. 

His eyes explored your face pausing for you to explain. 

When you realized he wouldn’t move on without one you sighed. “I’ve already been offered a job.” 

His face scrunched, “doing what?” His thumb still stroked your cheek. 

“Investment banking.” As soon as you said your new reality you couldn’t help but laugh. “God, I’m going to turn into those people I hate.” 

“Well that depends,” he smiled, “what company are you selling your soul too?” 

“Goldman Sachs,” you both laughed in response before growing quiet His fingers slowly brushed down your shoulder and down your arm leaving goosebumps behind. When he finally had your hand wrapped in his own, warmth spread through your body. His heartbroken eyes were downcast, staring at your intertwined hands. Maybe it was the questionable amount of alcohol in your system, but you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning closer. Your chest pressed softly against his, and your lips met the corner of his mouth leaving the vague memory of a kiss. Your eyes searched for his, and when they met his begged you to initiate contact. So you did—you ignored everything in your brain screaming stop. Running your fingers through his hair, you pulled him in. The kiss was slow, and your lips were a whisper of secrets against his. Neither of you tried to deepen it and make it something that it wasn’t. Soon enough, you pulled away wanting to cry, wishing you could let it all out, but there was nothing left. Tony’s eyes were understanding, and you couldn’t dare to meet them. So you rested your head against his rising chest letting his arms pull you close.

“Thank you…for helping with tuition—one day I’ll pay you back,” you whispered. 

“You already have.” His lips brushed against your forehead.

Before you knew it, the two of you had drifted into sleep.

Sunlight poured into the room, and your head bounded aggressively making it impossible to open your eyes fully. The bed was still warm beside you, but Tony was long gone. You knew it was for the best, last night had been your last hurrah with him. You wanted to remember it like—blissful. If it weren’t for the hangover brewing in your body, you would have felt completely content in that moment.

—————————————

The smell of coffee filled your nose, and lulled you from your hazy sleep. After rubbing the tired from your eyes, you took in your surroundings. The lumpy surface leaving knots in your back was far from your comfortable bed, and the room was far too florescent to be your bedroom. The sound of the coffee maker in the corner meant you had fallen asleep in the break room again. Your dear roommate and friend Felix hovered above you with a steaming mug of coffee. His eyes were playful waiting for you to make space for him.

“Long night,” he joked gesturing to your coffee stained blouse. 

Seeing the large stain officially brought you back to reality. “Shit!” Your eyes widened as you frantically jumped up. “What time is it?” 

“I think it’s almost 7:30,” he threw himself beside you on the couch. 

You grabbed his wrist to look at his watch. “Shit shit shit. Do you think I have time to run home and change before 8?” Your voice was frantic.

“Mmm, I thought you’d say that. Soooo…” He smirked while reaching down to grab a plastic bag.

Your hands grabbed it, and peering in you saw it had a fresh set of clothes. “Thank you so much Felix!” You jumped up from the couch clutching the bag desperate to change out of yesterdays outfit. But you needed caffeine first. 

“So do you want to talk about it?” He called from the couch. 

Peering up from behind your fresh cup of coffee, “about?” You questioned innocently. 

Silently, he placed his mug on the table before him. Crossing his legs, he gave you time to rethink your answer. “Have you seen the news at all? Or did you really just cram over reports all night.” 

“Oh the news,” you took a long sip of coffee, “yea I saw it break last night.”

“And?” He waited. 

“And what?”

“Are you ok?” 

You rolled your eyes, “I mean yes it’s sad.” 

Felix just raised his brows. “You dated their son for almost three years.”

“That’s a stretch,” you coughed, “I would argue we only actually dated for like a week max.”

“Y/N stop deflecting.” He looked like a worried mother, and if you weren’t trying to avoid the conversation you would have taken the time to make fun of him.

Instead, you finished your coffee and turned quickly towards the door. “Thanks for the clothes, wish me luck.” You shouted running out of the break room before he could say more.

Once in the bathroom you hurried to make yourself presentable. Happy enough, you walked out hoping that Felix had gone back to his desk so you could sip one more cup of coffee in peace before the big pitch. However, once the door closed behind you Felix emerged. He shoved the break room phone into your hands and whispered Tony’s name before making his way to the coffee maker. Your eyes shot daggers at him, and you vowed to get him back. Luckily, he didn’t pick up, and you were able to get by with leaving a voicemail. After smacking Felix’s arm and taking his coffee, you made your way to Mark’s office.

Typically, after spending the night on the break room couch you would have dreaded the buzz of your day. But today you were grateful for the busy day, and the look of shock on Mark’s face when you handed him the finished Franklin report provided you more adrenaline than coffee ever could. You rode that wave right into the pitch, and when Mark let you speak you didn’t let him down. The meeting went until lunch, which normally you would have hated because you now were behind on your other reports, but you were still buzzing. 

The last person finally left the conference room, and you quickly made a beeline towards your desk. Of course, Mark had to stop you. His hand wrapped around your arm, and you tried not to spit on him as you turned around. “Good work in there.” His hand fell back to his side. “If you keep it up, I might just recommend you for the promotion to the new Japan office.” His smile was huge, this successful pitch helped his career more than yours. 

Your heart swelled. “Really? Thank you Mark!” That promotion was huge—even though you didn’t particularly like Investment Banking—it meant a higher paycheck and almost guaranteed you’d make associate in one year instead of two. 

With a smile and a nod, he dismissed you from the room. Your practically danced towards your desk thinking about where you could drag Felix for lunch to celebrate. Quickly, you grabbed your bag and waved to the secretary making your way towards the elevator where Felix waited. 

“Ms. Y/L/N!” The secretary called after you. 

You turned and smiled, she was a small polite woman. Normally, the secretary would wait until after your lunch to relay any news, but she was new, so you made your way over to her desk.

“You have a phone call.” She paused, uncertain, and looked down at her notepad. “A…um…Mr. Stark.” Her eyes widened in realization. 

Well, there goes your peaceful lunch.

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #young!Tony #young!Tony Stark #avengers #Tony stark x y/n #mcu #the avengers #marvel

[kd-holloman]

Here’s a scrapped first chapter from The Traveler’s Gift! It’s not polished because it’s from the first draft and it doesn’t contain any spoilers, but I will warn there is language and graphic violence!

Chicago was alive with music, laughter, money, and freedom. The city was much different in 1923 than it had been in 1917 when Louis had left it. The economy was booming, factories were working overtime, and people were spending money hand over fist. On June 28th, 1919 the Eighteenth Amendment had been passed, prohibiting the manufacture, transportation, and sale of alcohol in the United States.

That didn’t stop a handful of wealthy men from creating and exporting alcohol from the city. People would pay out the nose for a drop of bootleg and that made the rich even richer.

Marcello Salvatore was the wealthiest man in Chicago. To the unsuspecting eye, he was a businessman. He bought out businesses that were failing, gave them a financial boost, and reaped the benefits of a good transaction. To those who knew better, he was the best bootleg provider in the state of Illinois. He owned half a dozen speakeasies throughout the city, a good amount of freight ships that exported across the lake, and kept the police in the suburbs happy and uninterested in stopping his shipments via the road with by lining their pockets.

Louis tapped his knuckles against the polished bar as the band played a jazzy tune and the men and flappers took their turns on the dancefloor.

The speakeasy was owned by Marcello, himself. People knew that being here was illegal, but that didn’t stop them from coming in for a good time.

He finished his whiskey and set the glass down for the barkeep to pick up. If only they knew what was going on below their feet, he mused silently as he scanned the faces in the room.

What was going on in the basement was a little more illegal than selling bootleg. This particular speakeasy was one of the many cover-ups for Salvatore’s dirty work. The music, laughter, and the feet of dirt between the floorboards and the cellar were perfect to cover up the sounds of tortured screaming and pleas for the pain to stop.

He frowned as he combed the crowd for Javier Gonzalez. The Mexican-American had been ordered to count the amount of profit that had come from Marcello’s last export of whiskey.

Marcello had caught word that one of his runners, William Smith, had been caught selling barrels of whiskey for more than their set price. The ledgers hadn’t proven that there was an excess of profit, which meant that Smith had been taking the extra cash right from under the boss’s nose. Which, was something he didn’t appreciate.

Money was important to Marcello.

Louis ordered another drink.

If Javier didn’t show up soon, the boss was going to send Louis after him and neither of them wanted that.

Marcello was the only person to know about Louis’s “gift”. He’d told Louis to keep it between the two of them. It made him the ultimate spy and go-for. If the boss needed information without risking being caught, he sent Louis. If he needed somebody to break a safe he sent Javier and Louis. If he needed somebody to help get rid of a body, he sent Louis.

Louis had quickly learned that the pain was something that came with his teleportation. He also learned that if he had ahold of somebody and used his gifts, they’d be subjected to the pain as well.

Louis hoped Javier showed up before he had to subject his friend to that kind of agony. The pain was brutal for someone experiencing for the first time. Hell, it still hurt Louis, but he’d started to get used to the pain.

The only thing that helped numb the pain was the liquor he kept in a flask tucked away inside his jacket pocket. He had to take care to ensure the nip of bootleg went unnoticed. The last thing he wanted was to be picked up by the cops for a small amount of booze.

He could smell the woman’s perfume before he looked up to see her. She leaned on the bar, her dark hair pinned up, pearls adorning her long throat, rouge coloring her cheeks. The flapper gave Louis a bright smile and a good look down the front of her dress. “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she purred.

Louis gave her a charming smile in return and signaled for another drink.

“I’ve seen you here before.”

“Have you?” He mused, his fingertips tracing the lip of his glass.

“It’s hard to miss somebody as handsome as you.”

Louis racked his memory, trying to remember a time when he’d seen the woman before. He probably had seen her before, but he didn’t remember when. Truthfully, he was more often than not focused on a job when he came to this particular joint. If he did come here for fun, he’d often slip away with a cute little number for some fun.

“I must need my eyes checked,” he replied, “because it’s hard to believe that I never noticed you before.”

She laughed and leaned forward, giving him a good view of her cleavage.

Louis took a long look before dragging his gaze back to her face.

He liked her. If he wasn’t so worried about where the hell Javier was, he would have had a dance with her. He would have offered to take her somewhere private and they would have gotten a little frisky.

Louis sighed, stubbed out his cigarette and downed his whiskey. He had to go find Javier. The boss was already in a foul mood and Javier’s tardiness wouldn’t do anything to help that. If they waited any longer, they’d both be sorry. “Excuse me, doll. I’ve got to step out for a minute. I’ll catch you later if you're still interested.”

He slipped through the front door of the speakeasy. The front of the saloon was sent up as a tailor shop to avoid the cops from getting suspicious.

As Louis rounded a rack of coats, he saw Javier’s familiar silhouette at the front door.

Annoyance shot through him at his friend’s tardiness. He’d taken too damn long to count Marcello’s money and now the both of them are going to be in trouble.

He stepped back, letting the shadows mask his presence.

Javier whistled as he rounded the corner, but stopped with a choked yelp as 

Louis grabbed him by the front of his coat and slammed him into a shelf. A box of buttons scattered, they rolled across the floor at their feet.

Louis ignored Javier’s Spanish curses. “What the hell took you so long? The boss is getting impatient!”

“You try to count all that money! You’ve got to look at the ledgers, look at the shipment size, make sure it’s all accounted for, and you can’t lose count or you have to start all over again!” He looked around the vacant shop and dropped his voice low, even though they were alone. “Did you beat him within an inch of his life?”

“No. He’s a little roughed up right now, but we’ve been waiting on you to come back with the totals.”

Javier nodded and started to head for the cellar door. “There are no extra rubes.”

Louis couldn’t help but shake his head at William Smith’s foolishness. How thick did you have to be to think you could skim money from Marcello Salvatore? He was the wealthiest man in Chicago! There was no way he would have ever gotten away with it without the mobster knowing!

The lack of extra money meant that Smith had been stealing from the boss, which meant he was going to pay the difference with his life. Which also meant that it was going to be a very long night for everyone involved.

Disposing of a body was a tedious process that required a meticulous amount of attention to detail. They didn’t want the cops catching on so everything had to look like an accident.

Javier pulled the door to the cellar open, the musty scent of damp earth drifting out with it.

As he descended the dubious steps Louis could hear the muffled sounds from the speakeasy overhead. Instead of the music sounding like distinctive notes, it sounded like muffled bleating instead. The footsteps over those dancing on the floor above their heads clattered like horses stomping across a barn floor.

In the center of the room, a bare was suspended from the ceiling. Just below it, sat William Smith tied to a wooden chair. Louis took his place at the edge of the room new a few of Marcello’s other employees. Abraham, Johnnie, and Edgar. They all wore similar suits and matching stoic expressions.

William was the only one in the room that was showing any sort of emotion. His eyes were glancing desperately among all of them. One of his eyes had a broken blood vessel, giving him a particularly demonic image. “Let me go. I swear I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Quiet!” Abraham snarled. “Or you’ll be missing your tongue.”

The restrained man pressed his lips into a thin line, causing the wound at the corner of his mouth to weep blood down the side of his pale jaw. Instead, he settled for pulling on the restraints pinning his wrists down the arms of the chair in front of him.

Marcello stepped down into the cellar, reeking of cigar smoke and bootleg.  

Louis’s fingers twitching for one of the cigarettes in his breast pocket. He forced himself to stand still. 

Everything about the mobster reeked of money. He oozed power. His shark-like eyes roamed over every one of them before stopping on Smith. He curled his lip in disgust at the sight of the man’s face. He then turned his attention to Javier. “Did you count the money?”

“Yes, boss.” Javier did a good job of not fidgeting under the Italian’s unforgiving gaze.

“And?”

“The money’s all there, sir. There’s not a penny more or a penny less.”

Marcello’s gaze swiveled to the man sitting below the bare bulb. “Tell me,” he said before pausing to take a long drag on his rich cigar. He breathed out the smoke in Smith’s face. “Tell me how much money you made by charging my clients extra for buying my whiskey!” His voice was a roar in the small room.

The captive man sat his jaw and looked past the mobster, looking at the stairs that could take him to freedom.

Louis knew he wouldn’t be going up them alive.

“Playing hardball, eh?” Marcello reached out with the burning end of his cigar.

Smith tried to jerk his face away, but he couldn’t go far when he was tied down. The sizzle of the burning tip against his skin was audible and the groan he bit back was painful. 

The mobster looked at the end of his freshly extinguished cigar with distaste before placing it in his breast pocket. “How much money were you stealing from me, William?”

No answer.

Marcello nodded like he’d expected that outcome and he took a step back. 

“Abe, cut off his thumb,” he said like he was making a prediction about the next Cubs game.

Smith jerked frantically against his bonds, shouting in protest.

“Hold him,” the boss said to Louis.

“Yes, sir.” Louis stepped up behind Smith and wrapped one arm around his neck and fisted the other in his oily brown hair.

Smith screamed and fought against him when Abe took his right thumb from him.

Louis ignored the shame that ran through him but quickly tamped it down. He had known what he was getting himself into when he’d agreed to sign on with Marcello Salvatore. This was all part of the job.

Smith still screamed as blood ran down the arm of the chair, dripping on his ripped slacks, and onto the floor. He made an animalistic snarling sound as he tried to keep what little dignity he had left by not crying.

Louis was not a fan of maiming, but it was part of the dirty work that went hand-in-hand with being in the mob. Even though he felt his gut clench like he was going to be sick, he kept a cool expression on his face.

He joined the mob about a year and a half ago. There had been Union strikes throughout the nation off and on since 1919. He’d been fresh out of the war and had been working at a meatpacking factory when the employees went on strike. Instead of striking with them, he’d gone to look for a different job.

His search had brought him to the docks on Lake Michigan. He’d been hoping for a job on a fishing boat, loading and unloading freighters from the ships, or a repairman for the boats, but he’d had nothing but bad luck.

He’d been about to give in and go home for the day down on his luck when he overheard to passing cops talking about how they had planned to set up a stake-out in order catch bootleggers smuggling barrels of whiskey across the lake.

Louis hadn’t been a fool. He knew that there were two major families reigning over the Midwest, perhaps even as far as the western border of Pennsylvania. 

The Salvatore family and the O’Shea family were the two biggest families making a profit from the Eighteenth Amendment.

It hadn’t taken a scientist to figure out that the Salvatore family was the wealthiest in Chicago. Marcello had a plethora of businesses and owned a share in several of them along the shoreline of the lake. It made sense that he used them to his advantage when exporting his illegal wares.

The O’Shea family was also powerful, but not quite as powerful as the Salvatores. The Irish mobsters had a hard time exporting their bootleg out of the city. The majority of their profits came from sales within the city.

Overhearing the officers had given Louis an idea. He wasn’t a fool, but he was desperate to make some cash. He knew that the information would be worth a pretty penny. So, he jumped to a speakeasy that he knew belonged to Marcello.

By the end of the day, he’d ended up selling the information he had about the stake-out for a shot of whiskey, a few dollars, and his soul.

It had been one-and-a-half years since that night, and even longer since his panic attack in the trench had revealed to him his “gift”. He put himself in good standing with the family and kept himself that way by proving himself useful time and time again whether that meant he was running information, spying, or assisting with messy situations, such as this one.

He’d seen several different forms of torture since joining up with the mafia and dismemberment was not his favorite.

He had to give William credit where it was due. That stubborn prick was down to seven-and-a-half fingers, but he had plenty left to spare.

Abe’s knife was glinting crimson and Louis had to hold the man even tighter when he struggled away from it.

“Okay!” The runner cried out, tears were running down his bruising cheeks as he sobbed for the loss of his fingers. “I’ll talk! I’ll tell you anything you want to know, I swear! Just no more, please!”

Salvatore gave Louis and Abe a dismissive flick of the fingers and approached the restrained man. “I’m listening.”

“I’ve been overcharging the price of the shine to make a quick buck for the past three months. I’ve been charging an extra two dollars a barrel.”

Marcello’s jaw twitched in a way that announced to those in the that he was far from pleased to hear this news. “Not only have you been robbing me of the extra money, but you’ve also been robbing me out of customers! If the price of whiskey goes up, people buy from a cheaper buyer. Tell me, Smith, if they’re not buying it from me who are they buying it from?”

Smith’s silence was palpable, his reluctance to answer clear when he started to sob again.

Louis curled his fingers into his arms. Seeing a man learn he was going to die was never easy.

The mobster gave Smith time to answer. After nearly a full minute of sobbing, he kicked the polished toe of the shine-runner’s shoe. His voice was oddly calm when he asked, “who?”

“The O’Sheas.”

“The O-fucking-Sheas!” Marcello roared thunderously. “You steal money from me and send my customers to them! You’re disgusting!”

“Please, boss, I-I won’t ever do it again. I swear! I-I know I’ve made a real mess of things, but I swear to you that I’ll pay you back every cent I stole and I won’t ever do it again!”

Louis pressed his lips together, wishing for that cigarette now more than ever. Smith’s plan was never going to work. No amount of groveling, no promises, or ass-kissing was going to please the boss. The only way to make Marcello happy was by taking the life of the man that betrayed him.

“I’ll take the money,” Marcello said easily. Judging from the tone in his voice, he made it almost seem possible that he was willing to look past Smith’s errors and forgive him. “Where’s the money at?”

“It’s all locked up in the safe in my house.”

Louis meets Marcello’s gaze from over Smith’s head. He knows he’s going to be collecting the money from the man’s home once this ordeal is finally over.

“D-Does this mean I can get outta here?”

The mobster clapped a meaty hand on the restrained man’s shoulder. His voice reeked of faux sympathy, “sorry, buddy. I don’t believe in loose ends, y’ know? I like things to be trimmed short and kept neat.”

“Wh-What?” Fear was in Smith’s voice now as Marcello stepped back and Abe stepped forward. The crimson blade glinting dangerously in the light of the bare bulb. “No! No! You can’t—" His words cut off with a gurgle as Abe slid the knife, deep in his throat from ear to ear.

#the traveler's gift #deleted scenes #writerblr #writeblr #writing #writers of tumblr #writer #wip #louis elijah mahoney

[diinofayce]

Who You Sellin’ For? - 5

Pairing: Bodyguard! Steve Rogers x OFC!Musician! Addison Schmidt x Bodyguard! Bucky Barnes | Word Count: 3.5k | Warnings: Alternate Universe, withdrawal, language | A/N: Song in the fic is: Under the Water and then like always there’s the link to the Chapter theme below the graphic  | MASTERLIST

Just Tonight

The next morning saw everyone congregated in the kitchen again. Wanda, Pietro, and Sam were laughing over their steaming mugs of coffee and tea and bowls of cereal when Steve and Bucky rolled out of bed to join the band.

Bucky was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes while he fumbled around for a clean mug to pour the lukewarm coffee into and revitalize him for the day. Steve stuck with orange juice, coffee in the morning gave him acid reflux. Bucky slumped down at the large kitchen table, his fingers tangled in his knotted bed head while he stared contemplatively into his coffee.

“For security detail, y’all sleep pretty late,” Sam teased smirking at Bucky.

Bucky’s icy glare shot up at the man and his lips pressed into a thin line. “My internal clock is still shifting from working for Stark. He lives more of a night life.” He took a large gulp of the coffee praying that the caffeine would kick in quickly.

Steve sat down next to his boyfriend and knocked their shoulders together. “Well, and Buck has never been a morning bird. You guys all get up much earlier than we thought, though. I’ll start setting my alarm for earlier.”

Pietro shrugged and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and holding his mug in both hands. “That’ll change come tour time. We’re not normally up so early, but the interview ran this morning so we wanted to see it. It’s the first one for the new band, we were excited.”

“How’d it look?” Steve asked, perking up.

“Where’s Addison?” Bucky asked in confusion at the same time, looking around the open floor plan for the platinum blond.

Wanda and Pietro frowned and Sam grimaced slightly.

“The interview was good, they didn’t warp anything we said or cut anything funny in editing,” Sam said, but still sounded like he was upset.

“So what’s wrong?” Steve asked looking between them all.

“Well, the comments weren’t the best,” Wanda answered softly and pulled her phone out, unlocking it and pushing it towards the two men across from her.

Steve slid the phone over so both him and Bucky could read the small screen.

Both Steve and Bucky read the comments with growing anger and disgust. They had obviously seen their fair share of bad press and nasty comments working in the industry and for every nasty comment there were at least three positive ones, but some of them were so foul. Everything ranging from how she only got noticed because she was pretty and white, to people pointing out that Stark is her uncle so of course, she’d always be on a label, to the ones that were claiming to have been at the house party only days prior and watching her do lines of cocaine and down bottles of booze.

Bucky scrubbed his hands over his face and grumbled about going upstairs to put on actual clothing, he knew what it was like to get speculative and accusing articles. When he left Hydra, Alexander had thrown all the evidence of Bucky’s wrongdoings at the police’s feet. Luckily, Steve had stepped in and talked to Tony managing to secure Bucky a job, a psychiatrist, and the full force of Tony’s legal team. Bucky had been cleared of all wrongdoing when it came to the actions he performed on behalf of Hydra and when it looked like it was about to go public and shed Hydra in a negative light Pierce dropped everything and let Bucky go, but that also meant that none of the heat had fallen off of Bucky’s shoulders.

Just as Bucky was pulling a brush through his hair he heard Steve come into the room.

“Buck?” he heard his boyfriend call for him and Bucky opened their bathroom door.

“In here, Stevie.”

Steve slid into the bathroom next to Bucky and leaned against the vanity counter. “The guys said she locked herself into the recording studio.” Steve said. While they had all been out at Rolling Stone, Tony had a team in to convert the pool house into a recording studio at Addison’s request.

“I’m not great at the hand holding shit, Stevie,” Bucky grumbled jamming a toothbrush in his mouth.

“Sure you are,” Steve countered wrapping one arm around Bucky’s waist and pulling him into his side. Steve leaned down and rested his chin on Bucky’s shoulder, kissing the soft spot behind Bucky’s ear. Bucky let out a pleased rumbling sound and tilted his head to give Steve better access.

Bucky tapped Steve’s hip so he could pull away and spit the toothpaste out into the sink.

“She’s probably not even going to want anything from us. I’m sure she’ll just be snappy and bratty,” Bucky moaned. “Our job is just making sure she isn’t killed by Hydra.”

Steve pursed his lips and looked down at his feet. Bucky watched Steve’s face closely.

“What the fuck is it with you and picking emotionally damaged strays?”

Steve’s passive face broke into a pleased smile. “I like the challenge,” he rumbled softly, quirking his gaze up to meet Bucky’s.

“She’s a good person, Bucky. I know she is. But there’s more to her story, she’s been hurt bad and she’s barely hanging on. Doesn’t that bother you?” Steve asked.

Bucky sighed with frustration and pulled a zip up hoodie off the rack on the bathroom door. “Sometimes, Steve, she isn’t the only one keeping their shit together by a thread.”

With that he left Steve standing in the bathroom as he thundered his way down the stairs and out into the crisp morning air. Bucky didn’t want to argue with Steve, he knew that he had thrown a bit of a low blow back there. Steve was the type to immediately assume that he wasn’t doing enough as a partner when that was farther from the truth. Bucky knew he had the tendency to make their relationship a little difficult, he couldn’t help it, his head wasn’t always in the right space for it. And while Steve hadn’t been wrong back at the Rolling Stone head quarters, they had always shared partners, Bucky still felt vulnerable more often than not when it came to private intimacy and he wasn’t sure he was ready to add anyone else into their mix. There was a tiny hint of jealousy that had never been present with Bucky before now that was throwing him. Was he just not providing Steve with enough that the first dame to walk by with long legs and lashes and Steve couldn’t wait to throw them into the mix?

Bucky knew that line of thinking was incorrect and unfair. The moment Bucky said he wasn’t ready for it he knew Steve would drop it. There was also the weird nagging attraction that he also had to Addison that he couldn’t deny. The fact that she was just so lost and hurting provoked Bucky’s need to protect and shelter, which was the same instinct that Steve had and he knew that.

Just as Bucky was reaching the pool house he felt a strong hand wrap around his elbow and pull him to a stop.

“Buck…” Steve’s soft voice pulled him up from the dark waves that he was starting to drown in.

“Don’t, Steve. I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered and he was immediately enveloped by warm and strong arms.

“I’m not saying let’s do it, Bucky. I’m saying we should just take a little extra care with her,” Steve murmured in his ear and Bucky nodded.

The men separated and Steve tucked an errant lock of hair behind Bucky’s ear making the darker haired man smile before they both turned and quietly entered the converted pool house.

Addison had her back to the men on the other side of the glass partition, her bare feet were tangled in the rungs of the barstool she was sitting on as she lazily strummed an acoustic guitar. Both men noted the red ‘RECORDING’ sign was lit so they silently took seats behind the soundboards to watch. It was probably rude, to intrude in such a way, they could easily keep watch from outside of the pool house, but they were starting to feel like most of their job wasn’t protecting Addison from Hydra it was protecting her from herself.

“Lay my head under the water Lay my head under the sea Excuse me, sir, am I your daughter? Wont you take me back? Take me back and see?”

Her soft voice was laden with sorrow and pain. Her long platinum hair that was pressed down by large headphones fell in front of her face as she brushed her nose against the mesh circle in front of the microphone. Her long fingers moved deftly over the fret board of the guitar and she stretched her left leg down to push a pedal on the floor with her toes and flipping a switch on the front panel of the instrument she brought power to the guitar in her lap, igniting the sound to vibrant electric.

“There’s not a time for being younger And all my friends are enemies. And if I cried unto my mother No, she wasn’t there, she wasn’t there for me.”

“Don’t let the water drag me down. Don’t let the water drag me down.”

Addison took a noticeably shaking breath and her fingers faltered for just a moment before she seemed to rally herself and plug on. Steve and Bucky’s hands had found one another and they held onto each other tightly behind the glass as they watched her back, completely mesmerized.

“Broken lines across my mirror Show my face all red and bruised And though I screamed and I screamed Well, no one came running Oh, I wasn’t saved, I wasn’t safe from you.”

“Don’t let the water drag you down. Don’t let the water drag you down. Don’t let me drown, don’t let me drown in the waves. I could be found, I could be what you had saved.”

Steve and Bucky watched Addison break. As she screamed ‘saved’ over and over in the microphone, her voice cracking and her knuckles white, they watched her tumble and fall. This was the most honest they had ever seen the girl and it became more apparent than ever that they were intruding and they shouldn’t have come in. This was almost religious and extremely intimate and the boys couldn’t help but feel guilty, but they also couldn’t will themselves to stand up and slip out the door. This was a beautiful train wreck, the fall from grace, it was honest and pure and painful.

“Lay my head under the water Aloud I pray for calmer seas And when I wake from this dream with chains all around No I’ve never been, I’ve never been free… No I’ve never been, I’ve never been free… No I’ve never been, I’ve never been free…”

The guitar slipped from Addison’s lap and hung limply at her side, gripped in her left hand by the neck as she swiped the back of her right arm across her face. Reaching up she slid the headphones from her head to dangle around her neck and she half looked over her shoulder at the guys behind her.

“Wanna hit the red flashing button?” she asked hoarsely.

Bucky and Steve blinked once before Bucky managed to reach out and press the large button on the sound board to stop the recording. Addison sniffled a bit and scrubbed at the stains on her cheeks before returning her guitar to the little stand and standing up to stretch her long limbs and rake her hair back into a messy ponytail. She cleared her throat before turning to stare at them through the glass; her silver eyes were still bright despite being red rimmed and puffy, the tip of her nose was red from crying and even though she scrubbed at her cheeks repeatedly Steve and Bucky could still see the tracks of her tears. She was wearing a pair of black jeans and a flowy white t-shirt with an over sized gray cardigan that hung down her knees.

She crossed her arms in front of her as if to protect herself in her sudden show of emotion and levied the men with a hard stare.

“Didn’t you see the red light on the outside? That means don’t come in.” Addison unplugged her headset from the recording box and left the little recording room to join the two men in the sound room.

“There was no light?” Steve asked hesitantly looking at Bucky for confirmation. Bucky just shrugged back unhelpfully, he had been too caught up in Steve to notice anything like that. Which, considering their job, was probably a bad thing.

Addison let out a little noise of disbelief before plugging the jack of her headphones into the sound board and adjusted a few of the sliders.

“Sounded good,” Bucky supplied, nodding his chin towards the other room.

“It’s decent. Not a bad start to a new album,” Addison grumbled, hitting play to listen to the recording with only her left ear cuff on, the one of the right tucked behind the shell of her ear so she could still communicate with her nosy security team.

“New album already?” Steve asked, brow furrowing. He figured the band would want to be practicing the ones on the album so when the tour was ready to take off they’d be good to go.

Addison sighed and rested her chin in her hand as she curled her knees to her chest in the chair. “No…new album totally. Tony sent me an email over from my lawyer…I fucked up in the interview by mentioning working with Wanda on stuff. Pierce put a subpoena through demanding all emails and direct lines of contact between myself and the members of the band during the time I was in contract under Hydra. He’s trying to rip the album out from under us…or take a part of the royalties. We don’t make shit for royalties anyway so really he’s just trying to be an ass.”

She pulled her pony tail around over her shoulder and picked at the ends nervously. “I haven’t told the others yet. They worked so hard on this album and now it’s all gonna end up Pierce’s vault.”

Bucky took a moment to actually examine Addison. Her pallor was pale and ashen, small beads of sweat were sitting on the surface of her upper lip and forehead. Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling as she fidgeted with her hair and the dials of the soundboard, her right leg bouncing anxiously up and down. His lips pursed with his frown and he cast Steve a pointed look that had him examining her closer as well and connecting all the dots.

“I don’t think the others are going to be mad at you, Addison,” Steve said softly, his demeanor instantly switching from abashed at being caught in the studio to over protective of her wellbeing.

“I didn’t say they would be. I just feel like a fucking asshole. Just another fucking thing I managed to screw up,” Addison bit back and it had Steve sitting back in his seat.

“Hey,” Bucky soothed, reaching forward and finding the pause button on the playback. When Addison didn’t protest he reached up and slowly slid the headphones from her head set them on the table. “Why don’t you just step away from this for a minute. Did you eat something this morning?”

Addison shook her head and wrapped her arms around her knees before resting her chin on them. “I’ll just throw it up. I just have to keep working. If I can just…” Addison paused and took a shaking breath. “If I can just work for the next couple of days I’ll be okay. I just can’t focus on it.” She brought her nail up to her mouth and stuck the nail between her teeth, chomping down and breaking the acrylic with a sharp snap that had both men wincing. “I don’t want him to control me anymore.”

She didn’t need to clarify what ‘it’ was or what control Pierce still had over her. Both Steve and Bucky could pin point the signs of withdrawal pretty quickly and both men were just impressed she hadn’t taken anything yet to stem the pain.

“No, I think what would be best is if we got you upstairs to bed. You can bring your guitar if you want, but you should lay down with some water,” Steve pressed and Addison frowned, but nodded.

She unfurled herself from the chair and pulled her cardigan tighter around her as a shiver wracked her body. Addison left the guitar in the recording room as she led the way back up into the house. Bucky and Steve both looked behind themselves to see that there was in fact a light above the door and when recording was happening there probably was a light that flashed.

Bucky followed Addison up to her room while Steve took a detour to the kitchen to fill a pitcher with ice water.

“Everything okay?” Wanda asked, still at the breakfast table with some toast.

“Addison is having some withdrawal. We’re taking her back to bed,” Steve commented, his eyes shooting over to the red head.

Wanda frowned for a second with contemplation and then nodded. “Okay, Piet, you know the drill. Let’s start purging the house.” Wanda and Pietro both pushed their dishes away from them and split up with the intent of scouring the house for drugs and liquor and getting rid of it.

Steve watched as the twins rushed off and quirked an eyebrow at Sam who was reading the paper just like he was the morning before. Sam just shrugged at him. “I don’t know where they keep half that shit,” he commented and turned a page.

On his way up to Addison’s room he sent off a text to Natasha asking her to reschedule any interviews the band or Addison had for the coming week with the promise he would explain later. Pushing open the door he didn’t immediately see Bucky and Addison, but he heard them in the bathroom. He felt a tinge of nausea as he heard Addison wretch into the toilet and was so appreciative over the fact that Bucky was never bothered by that sort of thing. Pouring a glass of water from the pitcher he wrapped his knuckles on the bathroom door and Bucky poked his head out.

“Thanks, Stevie,” Bucky sighed and took the glass of water from him. Leaning up on his toes he gave Steve a quick peck to the lips before shutting the door again, knowing that Steve couldn’t stand vomiting.

Steve sat down on the edge of Addison’s unmade bed and waited for the two to come out. At one point Wanda came bustling in and opened up dresser drawers and her bedside table, coming out with a handful of clear baggies and orange bottles of prescription pills. Wanda smiled brightly at Steve before rushing out before Addison could see that Wanda had her stash.

Just in time for the toilet to flush and the sink to run. Bucky led Addison out into her room where she flopped unceremoniously into her bed, her platinum hair sticking to the sweat of her forehead, but her breath coming out freshly minty as she sighed. Bucky must have force mouth wash upon the small girl. Steve reached out and brushed the hair off of Addison’s forehead as Bucky sat down on the other side of her.

“So, I know I’ve been nothing but a selfish bitch this whole time,” Addison mumbled into her pillow and Bucky quirked an amused eyebrow at Steve. “But can I be selfish again?”

“What do you need?” Steve asked, pulling her comforter up around her.

“You guys are like furnaces and I’m fucking freezing,” Addison noted before trailing off and cracking a red rimmed eye open to look at them both.

Bucky sighed and pulled the comforter back slightly. “Well, budge into the middle then, doll.”

Addison hummed sleepily but managed to drag herself into the middle of the king sized bed where Bucky slid up to her right side. He shot Steve a pointed look, the blond man was the one that got them into this mess to begin with so he’d better pony up. Steve rolled his eyes at his boyfriend and slid into Addison’s left. Addison sighed in content as she rolled over and curled into Steve’s side, absorbing his warmth.

Bucky skooched in closer to her backside and pulled out his phone.

“What level are you on in Candy Crush?” he whispered to Steve as Addison started to drift off to sleep.

“248?” Steve asked, pulling out his own phone.

“Nice,” Bucky smirked and opened up level 249.

#bucky barnes x ofc #bodyguard bucky #steve rogers x ofc #bodyguard steve #steve rogers x bucky barnes #bodyguard au #marvel fanfiction #marvel #avengers fanfiction #avengers #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #stucky #stucky fanfiction

[inkycrowwrites]

Imagine Jonathan Crane saving you

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x reader

A/N: We’re back! And it’s my number one boy’s birthday! A few days ago I promised I would write something for today, so here we are (this story is slightly based on a creepy story I heard on a video a long time ago, If I ever encounter it again I’ll tag it). I’m planning on writing again, because fuck depression! I’ll work on some things some people asked for and then we’ll officially open requests. Again, if you find any grammar mistakes or feel like I forgot to include a warning please let me know at my main blog @regipumpkin. Thank you for reading!

Warnings: Cursing, assault attempt.

Your family never had a lot of money growing up. It actually wasn’t all that bad, your parents and sister loved you very very much and that was enough, but now that you finally finished High School you needed to move out.

The town you grew up in didn’t even have its own college so Gotham was the cheapest and closest option. It took you a whole year and a half to convince them to let you go, that college was the only way you could finally study animal genetics. Ripping your dream away from you would break their hearts.

A friend of your sister got you a job at his uncle’s sketchy motel on the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t very pretty but as long as you kept the rooms clean you could stay free of charge and eat dinner for free as a housekeeper. It was an offer you couldn’t refuse.

Things went smoothly for the first months. Sure, working and studying a career at the same time wasn’t easy, but you’ve been helping support your family since you were sixteen, even now you still send them your tips.

A couple of weeks ago while cleaning a room, you found a trail of blood coming from the bathroom. The three men that stayed at the room had left hours ago and thankfully, for your sanity, that was the only piece of evidence they left behind. You dropped everything and ran to the front desk for help. When the manager saw your pale face he just smirked and said “welcome to Gotham”. The police came to ask you a few questions, but just like the other employees told you to repeat, you didn’t see anything, that was the answer that would keep you safe. The police didn’t bat an eye, they seemed to be used to people not answering questions.

Now Friday night was finally here, your teachers had mercy on you and asked for a small essay which you had already finished and your shift was over, or so you thought. As you reached the front desk to leave your equipment your manager told you that the other house keeper had to leave because of an emergency. This wasn’t something she did often as she had two kids and had to provide for them, you only hoped that everything was alright back home.

She left her cart at the third building, the one farther from the office, and thankfully only one room to clean, the one at the end of the hall. As you scrubbed the shower you heard loud laughter from the next room, your first thought was that they were probably drunk, perfect, more cleaning tomorrow.

When the room was finally done you felt exhausted, you locked the room and pushed the cart. The pretty lights from the city caught your attention, perhaps Gotham wasn’t that bad, you had to admit it had a certain grisly charm. The wheels got stuck in the carpet and as you pushed harder it collided into the next room’s door with a loud bang. The voices from inside the room immediately went silent. The door opened slightly and a man peeked from the inside “what do you want?”

“It was an accident, sir. The stupid cart, sorry to bother you”

The man opened the door completely with a smile on his face, you recognized him from the other day, he was one of the men who left the bloodied room.

“No harm done sweetheart. You hungry? We got some pizza and booze here, wanna have some fun?”

“I need to go”, was the only thing your fear allowed you to mutter. You lowered your head and kept pushing the cart as fast as you could. A tight grip on your arm coerced you to let out a distressed shriek “don’t be such a tease, babe. You’ll break my heart”

“We promise you’ll have fun” spoke a second voice from inside the room.

Tears formed at the edge of your eyes, you screamed for help. With all your strength you kicked him in the shin and ran leaving everything behind.

“GET BACK HERE BITCH!” Two of them came behind you. And like a beam of hope a door of one of the rooms opened. Your instinct screamed at you to get in and so you did, crashing into someone, you didn’t have time to apologize, you slammed the door but right before you could lock it, the men barged in. They dragged you out as you kicked and screamed “please! No! Let me go please!”. The last glimpse you had of that room was a whole chemistry set on the sink and the room desk along with some strangely colored lights, the person you collapsed into was nowhere to be found.

The man on your right suddenly collapsed to the ground, you turned to look at him, he squirmed scratching at his neck pathetically. Then the one at your left fell too, wheezing painfully. A tall, slim shadow stood between you and the third man “Stay away from me! Fucking freak!” the man screamed as he pulled out a gun, “ah, but ‘freak’ is such an underappreciated compliment”. The shadow threw something at the ground and a yellow cloud engulfed them, you backed away as much as you could and covered your mouth and nose. Just as you expected the third man screamed bloody murder and dropped the gun to the floor. The cloud dissipated, the tall man took a cloth out of his coat and pressed it against the man’s face.

“Shush, not yet”. After a few moments the man fell silent.

As you stared at them you felt dizzy and a little disoriented. You had to lean against the balcony bar to keep your balance. You caught the man’s attention, he turned to you and walked with long cautious steps, each time you felt more and more anxious. He stared at you with piercing blue eyes through brown unattended hair, you felt obliged to break the silence.

“Thank you for-for saving me”

“But we aren’t done yet, dear”. He pulled a new needle and you panted as a knot formed in your throat. “May I ask for a favor, miss?” you nodded nervously. “Help me get these gentlemen back to their room, they came to me like a gift. It’s an opportunity I can’t ignore”. You collected yourself and helped him drag them, in your position running wasn’t an option.

As you helped him with the third man your foot bumped into something, it was the lost gun from earlier. You stared at it, he stopped too, curious about your next move. You left it there and continued. If it weren’t for his help...you preferred to ignore the thought.

This time he was the one to break the silence, “Do you happen to know anything about chemistry?”

“No” you lied, he sighed in response “of course you don’t. What a shame, I guess you’re of no use to me anymore” again he toyed with the syringe in his long fingers and smiled at you.

“Off you go, dear” he walked you back to the hall. You simply stared at him with wide eyes in disbelief. This was just a trick, he was playing with you.

“Ah! I know what you want” he turned to the table in the room, took the wallet of one of the men and gave you $20 “there you go, have a good night. By the way, if I were you I wouldn’t call the cops, for your own safety”

“Yes sir” you gulped and walked away turning to look at him a few times. He simply putted one of his long knotty fingers on his lips as if to shush you and stared with an eerie look until you lost him at the turn.

Needless to say, you didn’t catch any sleep that night. Constantly peeking through the curtains searching for anything unusual. Not even the police lights you were getting used to illuminating your room came.

When the sun finally rose you felt slightly safer. You got out of bed and walked to the diner for breakfast, you still had the same clothes from last night but at least if you collected your food the rest of the employees wouldn’t suspect that something was wrong with you.

They gave you the usual, eggs with bacon. It was the usual for you because it was the cheapest dish they could feed you. Your stomach still felt sick from last night, you took your food to go along with a cup of coffee and walked over to your room.

But your feet took you somewhere else, when your mind snapped back to reality you found yourself in the building from last night right in front of that man’s door. He was probably gone by now, after what he did you would do the same, but then a wild stupid idea went through your head and you knocked on the door. Immediately regretting it the need to run away almost took over you, but the door opened before you could back away. He stood inside with a stoic expression. The only light in the room came through the door, behind him laid a body from last night. You felt neutral towards that.

When he realized it was you again he seemed slightly surprised “Yes?”

“I brought you breakfast, sir”

“I never requested room service” he seemed slightly pissed “no, sir. It’s not that-”

“Open it” he commanded, you took the food container out of the paper bag and showed him “bacon and everything” you smiled slightly, “I swear it’s not poisoned. It’s a thank you gift, for saving me last night”. He bowed his head a little and laughed with a low voice “You’re not from Gotham, correct?” Surprisingly he took the food and coffee anyway and nodded as if to say he appreciated it.

“Wait sir! The maid in charge of this building, her shift starts at 8 o'clock. I thought you would like to know in case you-”

“I’ll be gone by then”. You nodded and turned around to go back to your room. Just like before he stared at you as you left, except that this time when you looked back at him he looked away from your gaze and closed the door. Your instinct told you that this wouldn’t be the last time you encountered him.

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[newstfionline]

‘If Money is Not Distributed, You Are Finished’

By Milan Vaishnav, Foreign Policy, February 27, 2017

“It is too hot for campaigning, sir,” the aide explained. “We will take our lunch and then try again in the late afternoon.” It was 104 degrees in the shaded area of the porch where I was sitting and the aide’s words provided a welcome reprieve.

It was 2014, and elections were only two weeks away in this predominantly rural constituency located in the southern Indian state of Andhra Pradesh. On this particularly scorching day, I had come to spend some time with a candidate who was standing for elections to the Andhra legislature, which represents the state’s 50 million residents. Due to the relentless heat this time of year, candidates would visit constituents first thing in the morning before breaking around 10 or 11, at which point the sun’s glare became unbearable. They would resume again in the late afternoon, when the worst had passed, and stay out as late as their bodies could stand it before collapsing.

Fortunately for me, I was scheduled to accompany the candidate in his well-air-conditioned SUV for his afternoon and evening engagements. The candidate, whose identity I agreed not to reveal but will call “Sanjay,” was a newcomer to politics. Sanjay was well-educated, quite wealthy by Indian standards, and had several years’ experience in the private sector. Despite his parents’ qualms and his wife’s protestations, he had decided to take the plunge into electoral politics--backed by a wider party, but drawing on his own financial resources. “This has been a great experience,” Sanjay told me in the car as we drove to a nearby village for a rally, “but my wallet does not agree with me.” We both laughed before he continued, “This election is costing me between $1.5 and $2 million.”

Doing the math in my head, I figured Sanjay’s estimate of his campaign expenses was in the ballpark of thirty to forty times the legal limit for a state election (roughly $47,000). His costs rose substantially as the election drew nearer. Sanjay went on to explain that most of the money was his own or his family’s--as a newcomer, he could not rely on big corporate donations, and his party was not much help, either.

His personal wealth was precisely what made him an attractive candidate to the party to begin with.

In February and March 2017, voters in five Indian states are going to the polls. In each instance, the share of wealthy candidates in the fray is even larger than in the previous election; in the north Indian state of Punjab, for instance, 37 percent of contestants are “crorepatis” (that is, they possess a wealth greater than one crore, or 10 million rupees). In the tranquil coastal state of Goa, the assets of sitting politicians have grown by 50 percent in the past five years. But the challenges posed by the rising costs of elections are not unique to India; in democracies the world over, the need to amass a hefty campaign war chest is limiting the talent pool for office while often opening the door to vested interests. And in countries with weak checks and balances, the burgeoning costs of democracy raise the likelihood that, once elected, politicians will use the trappings of office to recoup their expenses.

Under Indian law, although there are strict limits on how much money individual candidates can spend on their campaign, these limits are routinely flouted. The spending caps are both unrealistically low and exceedingly hard to enforce. As a result, candidates and parties engage in a shadowy game of channeling largely undocumented cash in an effort to tilt the playing field in their favor.

To get around strictures prescribed by India’s autonomous Election Commission, candidates have come up with ingenious workarounds. In Sanjay’s case, rather than risk distributing actual bottles of alcohol in the waning hours of the campaign--which could raise unnecessary suspicion--party workers provided households with vouchers (that looked like innocent scraps of paper) for free booze that they could redeem at local liquor outlets. For most households, country hooch would suffice. For influential notables or well-to-do residents, the campaign was compelled to gift name-brand liquor.

I was dubious whether this type of “vote buying” was actually effective. In 2010, I had met a voter in the poor, northern state of Bihar who, mistaking me for a politician, desperately asked me to buy his vote. When I asked him how much he required, he admitted that one party had already given him 100 rupees. So, if I gave him money, too, would he vote for me, I asked? He let out a devilish grin and confessed he takes money from all candidates but then votes for whomever he wishes on the actual day.

I relayed this story to Sanjay and he nodded approvingly. “If money is distributed, voters might give you a chance. But if money is not distributed, you are finished,” he said. It was difficult, if not impossible, to secure an airtight quid pro quo, but the money and goodies were a sign of goodwill and largesse. Politicians like Sanjay held out hope that if they gave more money than the next guy, norms of reciprocity would kick in and voters would feel obliged to vote “the right way.” Doling out cash on the eve of elections was--as a veteran India-watcher once explained to me--akin to a poker game: All players need to ante up before the dealer hands you your cards. It’s the price of admission.

When we reached the village rally, I was introduced to a man who had previously contested elections in the area but was now campaigning for Sanjay. I asked the man why he chose not to run again; he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, making the universal gesture for cash. “I just finished paying off the last one,” he said with a laugh. Without going into detail, I casually mentioned my conversation with Sanjay about campaign costs. “That’s nothing,” he remarked. “The man who is running for the [national-level] parliamentary seat from this area is spending several times as much.”

Later that night, when we returned to Sanjay’s party office after a series of exhausting though exhilarating rallies, I asked him why he decided to get into politics. He cited all the usual reasons one would expect: public service, a desire to help people, a belief he could better represent the constituency than the incumbent. But given the huge expenses, was the financial investment worth it? “If I am lucky enough to win, next time, I’ll need even more money,” he lamented, already pondering his potential reelection expenses. “How does one remain honest and succeed in politics in this country?” he wondered aloud.

The next day, in between campaign stops, I asked Sanjay about the supposed link between the crush of money and criminal activity (or “muscle,” as it is called in the Indian parlance). The nexus between crime and elections in India is deeply woven into its political fabric.

“Parties have a pretty good sense of what elections cost now and what they’re likely to cost in the future,” Sanjay said. “They know that they have to find well-off candidates to fight elections for them.” What costs 100 million rupees today will cost 200 million rupees five years from now when the next election comes around, he said. But, I interjected, not all were criminals--he did not have a criminal record, for instance. “But there are not enough of us,” he replied. “Without money, you cannot do anything. You will be wiped out. You first have to make money, and then you can do good after you’re entrenched and secure.”

Sanjay related to me the example of one of his party’s senior leaders, who had amassed a large fortune through a series of questionable business dealings that traded heavily on his political connections. He is a good man, Sanjay assured me (in what sounded like a blatant rationalization), but he needed to build a big enough war chest that would allow him to do good in the future. For those in a rush to make money, there were lots of shortcuts available, and parties are always willing to look the other way. “Political parties are full of excuses,” he said with a smirk.

Before departing Sanjay’s constituency, I spent some time with one of the young men tasked with handling the large amounts of cash Sanjay’s campaign would distribute on the eve of elections. The boy, whose parents were longtime friends of the candidate’s, described to me the intricate network of cash distribution he would play a small role in facilitating. The constituency was divided into five segments and for each segment, the candidate had entrusted one family member or close associate with the responsibility of providing “goodies” on the eve of voting. Each of the five “block” leaders, in turn, had five deputies, and so on. The boy was one such deputy, but for someone entrusted with so much responsibility he appeared deeply uninterested in politics, telling me that he was doing it only as a favor since Sanjay was a close family friend. When I asked him if he ever thought of joining politics, his response was swift: “No way.” Politics was a dirty game, he said, and money was having a corrosive effect.

A few weeks before I arrived in Andhra Pradesh, the state held municipal elections, and the boy was asked by another politician friend of the family to help in the final days of that campaign. The candidate he was tasked with helping had come up with a clever plan to win votes: Rather than handing out cash to voters, he would distribute free cell phones. The phones were worth several hundred rupees, but the candidate had ordered in bulk and hence received a huge discount from his supplier. The ploy backfired, the boy explained, because most voters already had a mobile phone and had no use for a second one. Furthermore, voters felt the candidate was behaving like a cheapskate. The rival candidate in the area who stuck to traditional cash handouts won handily. Whether money had anything to do with the candidate’s loss was impossible to verify, but it was immaterial; there was a perception that it cost him the election.

On my way to the local airport to catch a flight out of town, I paid one last visit to Sanjay in his makeshift party office. I regaled him with stories the young boy had told me--stories, of course, that Sanjay had already heard. I promised Sanjay I would return in several months if he won his election. “If I win,” Sanjay daydreamed, “maybe I will run for member of parliament in five years.” He paused, smiling, “But to do that, I’ll have to become a billionaire first.”

In the end, Sanjay lost the race by a narrow margin: just 6,000 votes out of more than 163,000 ballots cast. While money made him competitive, it was not enough to catapult him over the top--especially against a well-resourced incumbent backed by a strong party organization. After the poll, Sanjay retreated to his small business, licking his wounds and plotting his future. Last month, I traded messages with Sanjay and he told me that he remains active in politics, making frequent trips to nurture his constituency. He is even thinking of contesting elections in 2019, but first things first: He has to replenish his bank balance.

This article has been excerpted from Milan Vaishnav’s new book, When Crime Pays: Money and Muscle in Indian Politics (Yale University Press, 2017)

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