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rhysismydaddy · 3 years

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Unholy Matrimony Pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nesta’s part of the Damnation Series.

OOF this took so long sorry. I rewrote it, changed it, then deleted it entirely about 9 times. I literally started writing the version before you, from scratch, on Sunday. All parts are linked below, so I’m only tagging people on this version! To go to the next chapter, there is also a link at the bottom <3

ALSO, an important caviat: Nesta is an only child in this one! I originally wrote it for her to be adopted and not know it, but it wasn’t really relevant to the story, so... idk. Just ignore that plot hole I guess.

Parts 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 -- pls like each part I’m insecure

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~Cassian~

“You’re getting married.”

The glass of bourbon halfway to my mouth pauses, because despite being known for being rash and unpredictable, even I’m surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

My eyebrows raise as I look over at Rhysand, my best friend and Capo, trying to figure out if this bastard is serious. His tone says he is, but that doesn’t make sense, because before a few seconds ago, the word “marriage” was in neither of our vocabularies.

He’s been single for as long as I have, although I’m starting to suspect he’s got a bird in the city. He’s too damn happy these days, and the other day I saw him laugh at something on his phone.

Which is weird, because we both know long-term commitments don’t really do well with our lifestyle.

We were raised to not give a shit about anything except the job. We kill without remorse, live in the shadows, and whatever other shitty euphemism you want to use. Settling down in some suburban, picket-fence prison has absolutely no appeal to Made Men.

Don’t get me wrong, most of us get married at some point. But never for love.

Some men choose a bride that’s pretty and sweet. Someone who will donate to charity and help clean up their image. Governors’ daughters, women from old-money families, and social princesses make up this category.

Some men marry to advance their station in the Family. Second sons who will never inherit the business marry daughters of Underbosses to get a nice boost to their status.

And then there’s the ones who are forced to marry by their capo--ie. me-- so they choose whatever attractive woman that’s in the Family and available. Those are always the happiest.

But regardless of the reasoning, marriage in the mafia is heartless, political, and for me, unnecessary.

I know I’ll have to pick someone eventually, but there aren’t a whole lot of desirable options at the moment. Not many of the other Underbosses have daughters that are over the age of fifteen right now, and I have no interest in doing the child-bride thing.

Plus, there’s no way I’d marry someone outside of the family. At my rank, it isn’t an option.

That leaves... a widow?

The only one I know is Ianthe, and considering I highly suspect she killed her last husband and the fact that she’s crazy, there’s no way in hell I’d legally bind myself to her for life.

So he must be joking.

I take a pull from my cigar and look over at Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. To who, exactly?”

“Volchonok.”

The Wolf Cub.

The cigar snaps in my fingers.

“You’re fucking kidding,” I say, honestly hoping that’s the case. He’s either that or insane, and I’d hate to lock someone who’s like a brother to me in a padded room.

Rhysand’s unflinching gaze doesn’t change, but his tone morphs from that of my friend to my boss. “You will marry her, Cassian.”

“She’s a fucking Russian,” I spit, not understanding. That should be reason enough for him to be joking.

In our world, being Russian is a crime similar to stabbing the Pope.

We’ve been at war over New York with them ever since they decided to try and get a stronghold on the east coast, and I’ve killed more of them than I can fucking count. Now I’m marrying one?

“Yes, she is, and so is her father, Alexei Olov.” Aka the Bratva Boss responsible for blowing up half of St. Petersburg last year when the local police refused to buy his weapons. “You will marry her, move to New York full time, and run the city with her by your side.”

“Why? Two or three more years, and we’ll have the city anyway.” Every day the Russians get weaker, and I’ve been responsible for pushing them out of my city block by block.

So there has to be a reason we’re suddenly okay with the enemy.

Rhysand sighs. “It was his idea, not mine. Orlov has agreed to sell our coke in Moscow and Seattle instead of his usual dealer and will supply us all the weapons we need for five years. There will also be no more midnight raids, bullshit arrests on bullshit charges, or missing shipments. He’s offering you a dowry, too.”

I don’t need his money, but the old fashioned term makes me laugh.

“Yeah? And how much does he think his wolf cub is worth?”

His lips twitch. “Ten million.”

“She must be a real pain in the ass, then, if he’s going to pay me that much to take her,” I chuckle.

Not that ten million dollars is anything but pocket change for the man. Orlov may be losing the fight in New York, but the bastard is richer than sin.

Selling arms to half of the entire world will do that to a person.

“I hear she’s beautiful,” he says, trying to tempt me to not fight him.

“Then you marry her,” I shoot back, not ready to give up the argument.

“I don’t feel like it.” Fucking typical. Rhysand sighs. “You and I both know we can work this deal to our advantage, so what will make you say yes?”

He could order to me to say yes and I’d have to, but he hates enforcing that kind of authority with me.

So I think it over, make a show of lighting a new cigar. “I want Sera.”

It’s a burlesque club in New York I’ve always been a little envious of, owned by Orlov and operated by his men. I’d tried to buy it a few years back but hadn’t had enough leverage on the Russian to strongarm him into selling.

Now I do.

Rhysand--the only one who knows about my failed attempt to buy the place--nods and tells me he’ll make it happen.

“When’s all this happening, anyway?”

He looks like he might laugh. “Wedding is in a month, but she’s flying in tomorrow night.”

A quick laugh forces its way out of me. Also typical of him to give me absolutely no time to change my mind.

Well, I have a month. That’s already longer than any relationship I’ve ever had.

Sighing, I stand and shake his hand, cementing the deal before I can even lament the loss of my bachelorhood.

~Nesta~

“Chto sluchilos?”

I slide my gaze to my father, because seriously, that’s the stupidest fucking question I’ve ever heard.

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything.

“Nichego,” I lie, assuring him for what feels like the tenth time as I look out the window. The plane picks up speed and lifts off, taking me towards an uncertain future, an uncertain place.

I might have told him nothing’s wrong, but inside, I’m screaming.

Three days ago, I woke up to find a marriage contract on the pillow beside me. There was a blank space where my name had been typed and a pen waiting for me to remedy that.

I still haven’t.

I’m not signing anything until I meet this... Cassian.

God, what an Italian name.

An image springs to mind, one of a slumped-over, hairy-chest beast with slicked back hair and a gold chain.

I know it’s stereotypical and hopefully incorrect, but I’ve never been to Italy and Alexei strictly forbids me watching movies that portray Italians as anything except revolting.

But looks aside, there’s one thing I don’t need to guess to know.

My future husband will be like all the other men in my life: controlling.

Men in the world I live in take what they want, don’t ask for permission, and feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. I’ve dealt with it my entire life, so it’s more amusing than anything at this point.

I guess I’m a bit non-traditional in that sense, considering most of the women around me have no problems taking orders from their fathers or husbands. But Alexei and I figured out pretty early in life that wasn’t going to work for me.

As he frequently likes to tell me, I started telling him to fuck off when I was five.

What did he expect? All the kids I hung out with were the opposite sex and at least five years older than me, so my vocabulary and mannerisms became pretty... colorful early on.

Regardless, I’m just not looking forward to having to deal with yet another man who thinks he can control me.

“Ty vresh',” Alexei accuses, lips twitching. You’re lying.

“Konechno.” Of course.

Of course I’m upset, but I understand what’s happening. I might have found out about it three days ago, but I’ve known it was coming for far longer.

As the only child of the great Alexei Orlov, Wolf of Moscow and Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, I’ve been told my entire life that I will one day be used as a pawn to gain more power.

It would--should--piss me off, but I’ve also been told I’m to one day take my father’s place and run his company.

So by gaining more power for him, I’m also doing the same for myself.

Not that I really give a shit about that kind of thing. I started officially working for Alexei years ago, and I already have enough money saved to never have to work again.

But in the Bratva, there’s no getting out. I was put in this world by birth, and the only thing that will take me out is death.

In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not a typical business woman.

My father is an arms-dealer.

A less than legal one, if you believe the heinous lies the media spreads about him.

He sells weapons to governments, private armies, and whoever the fuck else has the money to buy.

He’s also built himself a shipping empire to haul said weapons around the globe, runs the drugs and prostitute rings in Moscow, and has enough real estate to rival most small countries.

It probably sounds like I don’t care, and that’s because I don’t.

I like what I do in the sense that I have a mind for business. I went to business school and graduated at the top of my class, and I enjoy running the clubs and hotels I have. Trained by Alexei himself, I’m ruthless in negotiations, enough so that people started calling me the Wolf Cub by the time I was twenty.

But despite being good at it, I’m not particularly fond of the aspect most people think of when they picture my career in the Bratva. I detest drugs, have never hired a prostitute, and don’t really enjoy selling arms to bad people.

The alleyway meetups, the broken bones and bullet holes, and the blown up houses are all a little tiring to me.

Sure, it sounds exciting. And for a while, it was. I used to lose myself in the chaos, used to enjoy coming home with busted knuckles. But I honestly just got tired of it.

Right now, I don’t have to deal with it as much because Alexei’s still alive. But when he dies and I officially take over the family business, I’ll have to be more involved. Even if the thought makes me want to sigh.

I pull out my laptop and look over the financial report for Sera, my newest club in New York. As predicted, everything’s running smoothly.

I turn the laptop around to show my father, grinning when he pulls out his reading glasses and leans closer.

“Starik,” I tease. Old man.

He flicks my forehead, then reads the report and nods. Then he turns to his phone, probably playing Angry Birds or some shit, and leaves me to work.

The plane ride goes by quickly, and by the time we’ve landed in Chicago, I’ve gotten ahead on my schedule for next week, slept, and changed into what I’ve chosen as the “meeting my future husband” dress.

It’s simple and sleek, the black material clinging to my curves without being obscene. It’s long enough to hide the holster on my thigh, not that I feel in any danger with four personal guards stationed near me at all times.

My heels click as I make my way down the plane stairs and across the tarmac to the waiting sedan, and once my luggage and belongings are unloaded, we head to the Italian Capo’s house.

We’re meeting here, finalizing the contract, and then Cassian and I are flying to New York.

My new home.

“Try to look happy,” Alexei tells me, his heavily accented English almost ridiculous to hear. He speaks English only when he’s in the states, and considering he hasn’t come here since I graduated B school two years ago, he’s a little out of practice.

“I’m ecstatic,” I say, intentionally using a word I know he doesn’t understand.

His eyes narrow, because it isn’t the first time I’ve used this trick, but he doesn’t call me out on it. We continue to ride in ecstatic silence, eventually pulling up in front of the Capo’s... house.

It’s almost obscene to call it that, considering it’s fucking huge. Like obnoxiously huge.

I heave a sigh, step out of the car, and take in my surroundings. The neighborhood’s quiet, likely filled with friends of the Cosa Nostra too scared to make any noise.

A butler--seriously, a butler--opens the door and welcomes us inside, and as soon as I step in, I have to repress the urge to roll my eyes.

The amount of dirty money in the air is suffocating. It drips off the vaulted ceilings, down the artwork on the walls, across the marble floors. It’s in the little details of the crystal chandeliers and the mahogany staircase.

Ridiculous.

One look at Alexei’s disgusted face says he’s thinking the same thing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re rich. Grossly so. Alexei could have ten houses just like this, if he wanted them.

But he doesn’t. He owns property all over the world, but most of it is commercial or apartment complexes--property that makes him money, in other words. This, however, is a massive waste of capital.

The butler leads us further through the house and into an office where four men wait.

One is immediately identifiable as their lawyer, his over-priced cologne making me have to resist the urge to sneeze. The humongous man in the corner is hired muscle, if the boxy shape of the guns under his jacket is any indication.

The man behind the desk is obviously in charge, so I’m guessing he’s the Capo. Rhysand or Rhyland or something weird like that. He takes me in silently, bright eyes not seeming to miss any details.

That leaves the man leaning against the desk to be Cassian Azara.

My fiancé.

Our eyes meet, his golden gaze beautiful and wild, and I have to remember to keep my expression bored.

Because the stereotype, the horrible image I’d conjured up in my mind, couldn’t be further from the truth.

For one, he isn’t hunched-over. He stands tall, leaning a hip against his Capo’s desk with obvious confidence. But I see more than just self-assuredness in his eyes. He seems a little too rough around the edges, wild gaze almost like he’s daring someone to swing at him.

If the confidence didn’t already make him attractive, his looks sure as hell get the job done.

His hairs long and dark and curly, half of it pulled up in a rouge manner that clashes with the suit he’s filling. He has a few days’ stubble, too, like standing still long enough to shave just isn’t an option.

His shoulders are impossibly wide, narrowing down to trim hips and legs long enough to make him tower over everyone in the room.

His knuckles are tattooed and split open, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that tells me I was correct to assume he’s a fighter by nature.

Usually, that would be a deterrent for me, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed in a dark suit jacket and crisp white shirt while also looking so untamed that has me cocking my head to study him some more.

He studies me, too, beautiful eyes taking in the long blonde hair and bright blue eyes offset by pale skin. He looks at the dress like he can see everything underneath, and I have the strangest urge to blush. Jesus, he’s toxic.

He’s attractive, is what I’m getting at.

Which is not what I had planned on, considering I’d been trying to think of a plan on how to not sleep with him, but suddenly that’s all my mind can focus on.

His lips twitch like he knows what I’m thinking, and I realize we’ve just been standing here staring at each other for a bit too long.

So I turn back to Alexei and shrug like I’ve seen what my future husband has to offer and aren’t impressed in the slightest.

I toss the marriage contract on the desk, grab the Capo’s fancy little fountain pen out of his hand, and sign my name on the blank above my name.

Cassian watches, but I ignore him entirely until the ink has dried. Then I look up at him through my lashes and wink, turn on my heel, and leave the room.

~Cassian~

I think I’m in love.

Fuck.

She hasn’t said a single goddamn word, but the way she looked at me has me feeling itchy all over, anticipation and nerves rolling through me. I feel like I feel before I fight or something exciting happens.

Like I’m primed and ready and need it to happen now.

Nesta Orlov, my bride to be, is nothing like I expected.

I was fully braced for some meek little woman, similar to most of my friends’ wives, to come in and smile and say hello.

But nope. Nesta didn’t smile; she came in like she was walking onto a battlefield.

And she didn’t smile. She looked me over, clinical blue gaze noticing too much, and left me feeling winded. God, she’s beautiful. Just looking at her made me hot.

She also didn’t say hello.

Just signed the contract and left, like this was nothing more to her than a boring business deal. I mean, that’s what it is, but... I don’t know, I expected more of a reaction.

I’ve heard from some Underbosses that their wives cried or raged when they were forced to sign, but shit if that were the case with Nesta. She honest to God looked like she didn’t care.

Alexei, on the other hand, does look a little pissed about the situation, but I couldn’t care less of the old man’s opinion. He’s signed the contract, so to me, he’s irrelevant. Regardless, he and Rhys proceed to iron out some of the details about the wedding and other shit I’m not paying attention to.

Then they shake hands, and the Russian warlord turns to leave.

He reaches the door and looks over his shoulder at me, and there’s amusement in his cold gaze as he mutters, “Udachi.” Good luck.

As soon as he’s gone, Roman and the lawyer follow, leaving me alone with Rhys.

He slides the contract to me, and I sign my name next to hers, making this shit official.

“This should be interesting,” he comments, vague as usual.

I sigh, because I have a feeling interesting isn’t going to cover it.

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NEXT CHAPTER

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 14 | S.R.)

Summary: Separated and terrified, Spencer and Reader rely on their unique skills to survive. The team, minus Penelope and Derek, don’t know who the strange girl in the bank is, but they find out very interesting things about her history.

A/N: I don’t know how banks work. Idk how heists work. I know nothing. I hope you enjoy it anyway! Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader   Category: ANGST. Just. All of it. All of the angst. Every bit.   Content Warning: Gun violence, discussions of death and dying Word Count: 10k

MASTERLIST

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“Hello, my name is (y/n)(y/l/n) and I’m calling from the Bank of America on K St. Northwest to report shots fired. The shots sounded like burst-fire from multiple semiautomatics.”

When adrenaline kicks in, there are a lot of things that don’t feel real. Time seems to warp into some ominous presence weighing down on you, but your body has never felt lighter.

“Ma’am, where are you?” Her voice sounded so far away. My own just felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else entirely.

“I’m inside the bathroom. Listen, I might not have a lot of time. There’s a federal agent inside the bank. His name is SSA Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. Call...”

My mouth blanked on the names of the two men Spencer talked about the most. I’d met them both, why couldn’t I remember?

Several more shots rang through the building as an answer. It was enough to shake loose the names, which flowed from me before I could even comprehend where they came from.

“Call SSA Aaron Hotchner and… Derek Morgan.”

“Can you remain on the line?” She sounded insistent — which is against their protocol by the way. My eyes were glued to the bathroom door’s hinges.

“Only until the door opens.”

The sentence conveyed my thoughts without actually forming the words. Once that door opens, I’m probably going to die. It wasn’t a completely irrational fear.

“Okay. I need you to remain calm. Did you see any of the gunmen?”

Jesus, it was like everything I’d just told her had gone completely over her head. “No, I’m in the bathroom.”

“Does the agent have his service weapon?”

“No.”

If she didn’t ask me a question I could say yes to soon, I was going to lose my fucking mind.

I tried not to think about Spencer outside, but I couldn’t help it. All of my thoughts were on him, even before the commotion.

Was he even still alive?

“Help is on the way, Ms. (Y/l/n).”

“Please hurry.”

My entire body shook from the hormones, my instincts telling me to do anything besides sit crouched on a toilet in a bathroom stall. I don’t even know why I bothered hiding. They would definitely kick them in, or just shoot straight through the doors.

“We’ve contacted Agent Hotchner and he’s also on his way.”

Finally, some good fucking news. I released my breath as quietly as I could, closing my eyes for just a moment to compensate for the fact I hadn’t blinked in several minutes.

“Thank you,” I whispered, clutching the phone like it could actually do something for me past this point. But it couldn’t. No amount of breathing exercises would help me through this one.

Suddenly, there was movement outside the door. A crowd of people were shuffling past the door, and I heard the distinct sound of a toddler wailing.

“I have to go.”

“Wait, don’t hang up—“

I couldn’t wait, though. With trembling hands, I erased the evidence that I’d ever called them in the first place. And then I resumed my position as a sitting duck; quietly and as ready as I ever could be.

I listened for his voice, but I never heard it.

—————————————————

Three seconds.

Did you know that a semiautomatic weapon can fire up to three rounds per second, depending on how fast the user can pull the trigger?

After the first shot is fired, no one moves. Puzzled and alert, people are paralyzed. Your first reaction is to look for the source of the sound. It’d been a second before I turned to see the three armed people and two dead security guards behind me.

It takes the average person one and a half seconds to cognitively process that they're in a potentially life-threatening situation. It takes another .7 seconds for a physical response to kick in.

Three seconds.That was long enough for a maximum of nine shots per person to be fired- twenty-seven shots in total; it was long enough for the air to be filled with the sudden outburst of helpless screams the patrons of the bank, and it was long enough for me to realize that I didn’t have my gun and that my girlfriend wasn’t by my side.

“Everybody get down on the ground!”

Amid the chaos, I felt that all too familiar twisting sensation in my gut that begged time to reverse just enough for this to be a dream. Enough time to reverse the decisions that led us here.

But time was a cruel mistress, and she did not plan to bend to the whims of mankind, no matter how desperate.

Another deafening burst of sound rang through the air, shots fired into the ceiling now as myself and the others fell to the ground.

My gaze was fixed on the bathroom entrance. I couldn’t breathe. Please, I begged, stay hidden.

“Listen up! If everyone does what we say, you can all go back to your boring fucking lives.”

Injuries occur in less than two percent of bank robberies. Deaths occur in less than one. Saturdays are the second to least likely day for a robbery to take place. In the past 5 years, less than 10 people have been killed in bank robberies, and most of them were the perpetrators. Statistics usually calmed me down and helped me focus.

But these people didn’t care about statistics. They were defying the odds I had just recited to myself. They had already killed two people. Our luck was already stacked against us.

“Take everything out of your pockets and put it in front of you.”

As soon as the order was given, I was running through an inventory of everything in my pockets. It didn’t take me long to realize that with a cursory inspection of the items, they would figure out who I was.

But what were the odds that they would actually scrutinize them? I figured they were fairly low; you don’t rob a bank to get cheap jewelry and petty cash, even in a bank. What were the odds they would notice if I left something in my pocket — especially if my wallet was in front of me. If it wasn’t large enough to be a weapon, and I put out my objects of value, why wouldn’t I put out the rest of the contents?

So I decided to take the risk, removing my wallet while retaining my separate identification.

Luckily, the attention seemed pretty far removed from me. If I wasn’t too busy being extremely grateful, I might have been offended that they didn’t consider me a threat in the building.

“Alright ladies, all of you get up and follow my lovely friend here. You’re going on a little trip. Fellas, you stay right where you are.”

The sound of my heart pounding drowned out the instructions that weren’t intended for me. It was fine, I hadn’t planned on moving, anyway. As long as I could see the door to the bathroom, I was perfectly fine right where I was.

But I still felt for the terrified women that were shakily rising to their feet. To my right, I saw a woman struggling to hold a small infant. My heart was fracturing at the struggle, wishing I could help her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk doing anything that might draw attention to myself.

I felt like a traitor. I felt useless. I was quite literally trained to handle this exact situation, but now that I was here, I couldn’t move. I wasn’t thinking about strategy or how to maximize efficiency; all I was thinking about was her.

“Jake!” A woman’s voice screamed from the other side of the room. When I turned, I heard the sound of a rifle cracking against bone before the man hit the ground.

“Jake, huh?” The man above him laughed, using the business end of the rifle to turn the disoriented man on his side. “Well, Jake, how would you feel about your girlfriend watching you die?”

“Please don’t hurt him!” The woman sobbed, scrambling up off the floor that she’d resisted leaving. I wondered if (y/n) would have refused to leave me, too.

The man prodded the woman with the gun, urging her to follow the rest while simultaneously providing easy enough instructions. The man apparently named Jake made a few noises of desperate protest as he watched her leave.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“I’m sorry,” Jake pleaded, “I’m sorry, please don’t hurt her. I’ll be quiet.”

Smart man. I understood his hesitancy, though. His girlfriend kept her neck craned back until she was no longer in sight, gazing back at him for as long as she physically could. I closed my eyes just for a moment, to try and combat their current strain.

Unfortunately, just like it always seems to happen, that’s when they spoke the words I had been dreading.

“Hey, you check the bathrooms yet?”

“Nah, I got it.”

I closed my eyes tighter now, scared that if I opened them, I’d give myself away. There was no possible way that I could hide the terror I currently felt. To be fair, I think it was only natural to be scared — but not like this.

There was a loud crashing noise of doors slamming, and the voice I knew better than I knew my own reached my ears, making sounds I’d never heard from her before.

Don’t fight them. I pleaded again, Please, don’t fight them.

“Let go of me!” She screamed as the door to the bathroom swung open. Unable to keep my eyes shut any longer, I opened them to see her clawing at the ground as she was dragged out by her ankle. “I can walk by myself! Let go of me!”

I wasn’t sure if she didn’t see me in the commotion, or if she’d just made the decision to act like she hadn’t. Either way, I was grateful. Still, my worries were justified as one of the three unsubs walked over to me.

“Why are you looking at her like that? You know her?”

Craning my head up, I shook my head no. It must not have been very convincing; the rage in my heart at them for thrusting her into this situation evident in my eyes.

“You wanna play hero, kid?”

“Sorry. No.” I muttered, taking a deep breath in a failed attempt to regulate my heart rate or my voice, “She’s… very loud. I get headaches.”

“Yeah well, deal with it.”

That might have been the end of it, if I’d played my hand better. But it turned out that the risk I had previously elected to take was woefully miscalculated. I didn’t meet their eyes anymore, knowing that doing so might threaten whatever frail illusion of masculinity they possessed.

It still didn’t stop them from holding the gun to my head.

“Empty your pockets.”

“Okay. I can do that, but I have to put my hand in my pocket.” I explained, moving my shaking hand to my back pocket, “It’s not a weapon.”

For once, I was grateful that I was the resident wimp when it came to stressful situations. Sure, I could handle myself, but I definitely didn’t look like I wanted to be there. Had I been any more of a visible threat, I was certain they would have figured out my identity long before this point. They might even have killed me right away.

“Hurry up.”

Swallowing hard, I pulled the identification from my pocket, flipping it open and holding it up for him to see, my gaze aimed fully forward. He snatched the badge away, a cheeky chuckle and a smile in his words.

“FBI, huh? Well, aren’t we lucky. You just became our most valuable player.”

—————————————————

Morgan arrived on the scene relatively unhurried and mostly just curious. The information Garcia had sent over text message was vague, likely due to the crime being a local one. Nothing about this seemed to be the BAU’s usual fare.

It took him almost no time to find Hotch, dressed in casual clothing, surrounded by the massive response team swarming around the bank. But Hotch hadn’t spotted him yet, fully involved with SWAT.

“What’s going on?”

Finally turning to notice his arrival, Hotch gave his normal matter-of-fact report in his simple, succinct manner. “Three people stormed the bank approximately 20 minutes ago and killed two security guards. There are 19 confirmed hostages inside the bank.”

But there was one significant detail that seemed to be missing, and Morgan started to scan the crowd for familiar faces as he spoke. “Hotch, this doesn’t sound like anything we’ve been working on. Why are we responding?”

“The caller alerted us that Reid is inside.”

The words were so unexpected that Morgan actually did a double take, his eyebrows furrowed and bowed as he replayed them in his head. “Wait, how did the caller know that?”

“I don’t know,” Hotch said with an equally perplexed look, gripping tighter to the communicator in his hand, “but she referred to us and him by name.”

‘She?’ Morgan thought, his heart stopping for a second as he excused himself from Hotch’s side, pulling out his phone and frantically calling Garcia, who had already made her way to the BAU.

“Hey there handsome.” It was a mild nickname for the famed Penelope Garcia, but Derek knew that she was probably already in a tough spot. After all, it’s not every day that one of their own is in these situations. At least, not unexpectedly.

“Hey Garcia, do you have eyes on the people in the bank?”

He could hear the feverish click-clacking of keys on the other end, followed closely by her equally frantic voice. “I’m working on it but so far I can only see the main lobby. They separated the women and the men for some reason. Why would they do that?”

“Just focus,” he calmly reminded, “Can you see the women?”

“No. All the women and children were moved to the back.”

Rubbing his face to try and relieve the tension that had quickly made its home over his jaw, Morgan glanced over at the entrance to the bank. It was strange to think that so much had happened so quickly.

Garcia had mentioned twice now that the women had been moved to the back, and he was trying to figure out why they would do that beyond the usual control mechanisms.

“I’m trying to see in the back now, but apparently banks take their video surveillance far more seriously than everything else. Last I checked, a camera never stole money or fired a gun!”

“Focus, babygirl.” It was an instruction for himself just as much as it was for her.

“Sorry, I’m nervous, and you know how I get when I’m nervous!” She squeaked, “I don’t like seeing you guys on my screens. I’d much rather see you in person, safe and sound and preferably smiling.”

Trying not to lose his patience, Morgan just sighed. It wasn’t her fault. It was no one’s fault, except that of the bastards who just had to go and ruin a perfectly nice weekend.

“Can you at least tell me who the caller was? Did they call from inside?”

“They were inside and, one second, let me check, it was... oh.” Her voice cut off abruptly, dropping into a high pitched, desperate whisper. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“It’s... the girl from the movies,” Garcia’s voice got faster and more panicked, “Derek, it’s (y/n). It’s Reid’s girlfriend. Reid’s girlfriend is inside the bank.”

Now that his suspicions had been confirmed, he wasn’t really sure what to do with the information. Because now that he knew Reid wasn’t alone, he felt the need to tell Hotch.

A profiler with a loved one involved was in dangerous territory. It wasn’t just Reid, but Morgan had personally seen just how unhinged Reid could get when it came to (y/n).

“Can you see her?” He asked, his voice lower than it was before.

“Oh, god, yes! I can!” It was not the kind of excited exclamation Morgan had hoped to hear, but at least he had confirmation she was alive. “She was in the bathroom but… They’re dragging her away…”

Morgan had tried not to pry too far in his best friend’s life before, and he took a moment to consider whether his next request was honestly necessary, or if he was just trying to find a reason to snoop.

But he wasn’t. There was something off about that girl. It wasn’t that she was bad or wrong, but she was far too comfortable in situations that didn’t call for it. The way she carried herself told him that she had held her own hand too often.

“Garcia, I know I’ve already done this to you once but... I need you to tell me everything you can find on her.”

—————————————————

My entire body ached; the sensation of an unfamiliar hand clenched tightly around my ankle burned long after I was released. It was definitely sprained, at the very least. I didn’t dare try to touch it, though. It wouldn’t be worth the trouble, and the bristling discomfort kept me where I was.

Which, for now was on my knees in the backroom of a bank lobby. Beside us was a large, heavily reinforced steel door with way too many different contraptions. I decided then that this whole arms race between burglars and corporate America had gotten a little fucking ridiculous.

But however annoyed I was by that, I was far more irritated by the hushed bickering between the man and woman holding rifles on the other side of the room. I could only hear every couple of words, but I got the gist of what they were arguing about.

Apparently, they’d never heard of an alarm system that’s connected to locks, which seemed extremely stupid for people who had gotten this far. In hindsight, that should have been my first clue that something was off about this entire situation.

Still, I couldn’t deal with them making the same fucking arguments over and over, so eventually I blurted out what I’m certain any millennial in the room would know. “The keycard won’t work if they’ve sounded the alarm.”

The statement earned me a gun to my face, and after a brief second of confusion, I flinched away from the cold metal of the barrel.

“What was that, sweetheart?” She was clearly looking to gauge my reaction rather than actually ask me to repeat the information. That was fine. I wasn’t exactly a talented actress, and I didn’t see the point in pretending to be meek.

If she was going to kill me, she was going to do it. Although I was certain Spencer would disagree, I chose to believe that our fate is dictated long before it happens. I was not a profiler; if I survived, it would be because I had been taught to survive through brute force and spite rather than calm negotiation.

“The keycard system is linked to the alarms,” I said, slower now, “Someone hit the alarm, so the cards aren’t going to work. You’ll need to use the old school keys.”

Her eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a much lower register as she crouched down to my height. “How would you know? You work here?”

“No, my dad worked security.” It wasn’t a lie as much as it was an understatement, but she didn’t need to know that. I guess that’s one of those good things growing up with the dad I did; I got very comfortable speaking in vague generalities. Spencer hated it.

“Well, your daddy isn’t here to help you now.”

Wasn’t that the damn truth. But that didn’t mean I was alone, I reminded myself. Despite being dragged and my vision turned literally upside down, I had caught a glimpse of him in the lobby. He was alive. That thought alone was keeping me sane right now.

“The different keys you need for an override are probably kept on separate people so one person can’t do it alone. Probably the different managers.” I muttered, nodding to the side where one of the employees flinched at my words. Anything to get away from the fucking gun in my face.

“Is she right?” The woman sneered to the manager, turning her full attention to someone else. I felt a little guilty, since the poor manager seemed a lot less put together than I was. But hey, they needed her, too.

“Yes, I already gave you my keys,” she squeaked, holding her trembling hands up, “Th-There’s another set behind the desk I think.”

“Would you look at that...” It was the first time the man in the room addressed me since he had pulled me out of the stall, and I had to admit I wasn’t exactly a fan of his. But at the same time, I knew that he was going to be remarkably more receptive to me than the woman. She seemed to be the one who was actually in charge.

“Little miss problem was actually helpful,” he cheered, raising his weapon to point to the ceiling as he approached me. I chewed nervously on my cheeks, trying to meet his eyes but finding them uncomfortably bare.

“You should turn off the camera too, I’m just saying.” This time I didn’t nod, using one cautious finger to point to the small device that was currently staring right at me. I understood that it was probably helpful to Spencer’s team to be able to see, but I wasn’t really keen on my death being videotaped... as well as anything else I might end up doing.

‘Never leave a trace.’ That’s what I’d always heard.

‘Keep’em guessing. Even if you think it’s gonna kill you, because you don’t want to live with that over your head.’

“Fine. Do that and go get the keys.” He sounded intrigued, and I felt his searing gaze against my face.

“I think you should do it.”

The tension from before, when the two were arguing, had quickly resurfaced. She clearly didn’t trust him to be alone in the room, which solidified my belief that she was calling the shots, and he was just being dragged along for the ride.

In another life, I might have respected her ability to order stupid men around.

“Why the fuck is that?” He snapped, earning a bored roll of her eyes. The next thing out of her mouth was expected, but unfortunately the last thing I wanted to hear.

“I want to talk to her alone.”

Great. And naturally, her idea of ‘talking’ to me included weaponry. Using the end of the gun to tilt my head up to her, she gave a suspicious smile.

“Why are you helping us?”

“I want to go home.” It was my immediate and instinctual answer. It was the truth. I was helping them because I wanted to get the fuck out of here.

But you know, people expect everyone to have a squeaky-clean moral compass, so I decided to give a few more reasons.

“And I don’t give a shit about a massive corporate bank. I was just here to go to the bathroom– I don’t even have an account here.”

Maybe that was too many reasons, because just as her hesitance waned, it was back in full force. Shoving the barrel against my throat, she sneered, “I don’t believe you. You’re too comfortable with a gun in your face. You a cop, too?”

Cop?

I tilted my head to the side, baring more of my throat to her as I drawled, “Who’s a cop?”

For once, I was glad that Spencer had made such a point of reassuring me that he was not ‘a cop,’ because otherwise I’m certain the terror would have been obvious in my eyes. But for now, I could trust the numb apathy that was washing over me.

Please don’t be talking about Spencer. Please don’t know that. Good things never happened to law enforcement in situations like this. Hell, the two security guards had been dead in seconds.

“I think you know.” She was smiling, and I realized that this fucking psychopath was sharper than she wanted me to think.

“I don’t.” The words were said through clenched teeth, and I prayed that she would see them as insistent anger over the fear that lie beneath them, “And why would you kill me if I was helping you?”

She smiled, drawing the weapon up and down my throat until it landed lower at my chest. The movements were slow and light, a playful glint in her eyes when they met mine again.

“For fun.”

I didn’t move a muscle, my body remaining tense under her ministrations as I forced myself to hold my gaze steady. If she wanted fear, she wouldn��t get it from me.

“Then do it.”

The look she gave me told me she had seriously considered it, probably a little annoyed with my presence. But there was something else there, too, that same soft recognition that in another reality we might have been friends. I’m sure she saw herself in me a little bit; or at least somebody useful.

This confirmed my suspicion that I’d never really be able to read a psychopath. I didn’t understand how Spencer could do it every day. It’d only been a few minutes alone with her and I could feel myself losing the happy memories of the day.

Luckily, the man returned at the same time I saw a plan developing in her mind.

“Hey, come help me,” he called to her. Her response was surprisingly swift, the metal that was tracing over my collar bones disappearing without another word. He was holding a small bag of money, which seemed to seriously irritate the woman.

“Did you get that money from behind the counter?” I asked it before she had a chance. I wanted him to trust me. Or at least look at me more. It wasn’t that I wanted his attention as much as I knew I could distract him fairly easily.

He looked over at me, a dumbfounded look on his face. Men are so fucking stupid, I thought. The pissed off expression on his partner’s face told me that she agreed.

“It’s going to explode if you mess with it or it leaves the area. Probably with tear gas. If you’re escaping in a car, you’re not gonna want it.”

“Yeah, we know about dye packs, bitch.” She snapped, grabbing the bag of money and tossing it to the side of the door they intended to use.

I stared at the locks they hadn’t even bothered trying to touch. The same locks they apparently didn’t look up or know anything about when they came. Suddenly it hit me why this all felt so very off.

It was strange enough that no one was wearing a mask, and as far as I’d heard, no one was really trying to get out of this situation. I was certain that by this point there was a large crowd of armored men outside.

“Just trying to help,” I muttered as I started to scan the room, looking for telltale signs of tampering. The anxious whispering of the man distracted me just long enough to get more information.

“Won’t that set off some shit? Chain reaction shit?”

“Shut the fuck up,” the woman responded with a swift elbow to his gut as she started to walk away, “you are an absolute moron.”

As soon as she was out of earshot, I heard the faint curses that fell from his lips. As he picked up the bag just to toss it away again, I noticed the presence of odd packages in the corner of the room. He really did not want exploding dye packs near those boxes, which seemed remarkably out of place.

“Why does she think she’s in charge?” I asked, finally ripping my eyes away from the objects that now seemed glaringly obvious. “You two guys outnumber her.”

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you.”

Relaxing my body as much as I could, I shifted back and forth on my knees, rubbing the tired muscles of my thighs. “I may have been told that once or twice.”

He actually chuckled; his eyes drawn to my legs like the absolute moron he so obviously was. She definitely had gotten that one right. The other women in the room were watching me, but I tried not to pay them any mind.

I didn’t know when or why they decided to let me do whatever I wanted, but I appreciated their apparent comfort in letting me try to kill myself. He made his way over to the boxes, each a specific size and shape. He carried them so carefully.

“I figure there’s no point in being scared if I’m going to die anyway.” I finally said. Shocked gasps and whispers filled the room, but I didn’t divert my attention to them– No matter how much I wanted to tell them to shut the fuck up.

They would distract me from the way his mouth curled into a smile when he closed the gap between us, his hand sliding down my head and over my shoulder to follow the braid Spencer had meticulously woven an hour before.

“How about you just shut up and sit pretty for me, sweetheart.” I tried not to let the disgust show as his hand slid behind my neck, holding my head so that I had to look up at him. “You seem like you’d be real good at that.”

Ha! If only Spencer could hear him say that. But I could play the good girl for just long enough.

“Do you need help?” I asked with a tiny shrug, “I might be little but I’m pretty strong.” Strong enough to break your fucking hand if you don’t get it off of me.

“Nah.” He ordered, his hand on my neck getting tighter. “But I don’t doubt that you could be useful. You look real good on your knees.”

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might be visible through my ribs. I just needed an excuse to move. If he could give me an excuse to move, I could do so many things.

“Please let me help,” I begged, raising my hand to his forearm against my shoulder. His eyes began to shift, moving just enough to tell me that he wanted to look to the hallway. He could hear her footsteps, too. She was coming back, and I only had a few seconds left.

Once both of my hands were on his arm, I got the feeling he knew something even worse was coming for him.

“I’d love a chance to get to show you how helpful I really am.”

—————————————————

Hotch had spent the past five minutes on the phone with the male unsub in the lobby, and the conversation was going absolutely nowhere. For whatever reason, they just seemed to deflect any opportunity provided to them.

They didn’t seem to give a shit about anything beyond pushing the buttons of each person they interacted with. Which, they did quite successfully.

“Didn’t realize one pig would bring the whole flock of you here,” he laughed, clearly motioning to Spencer on the video, “How bad do you want him back?”

“What do you want?” He responded without hesitation or a surprise. It was such an expected question to ask that he’d barely even thought about his words before they came out.

“Easy. A chopper, and for you to fuck off.”

That was the equally stereotypical response, meaning it was entirely unhelpful to them. From what they could deduce, they were equally confused as to why this heist seemed to follow all the rules, but match none of the motivations. It was like it was a show, a game, rather than an actual attempt to maximize profits.

“We can do the helicopter, but we can’t give you a pilot.”

“That’s fine,” he responded with a shrug, “Don’t need one.”

It was the first piece of useful information he’d gotten so far on the call. Because if they didn’t need a pilot, it meant one of two things: either one of them possessed the skill themselves, or they weren’t ever intending to use the helicopter.

Briefly pulling the phone away, Hotch turned to Morgan. “Tell Garcia to check our list with people with pilot’s licenses or any other connection that might provide them the skills to fly a helicopter.”

He returned to the call, continuing the usual script for these situations, trying not to act like he’d learned anything new.

“Can you release the women and children?”

“Nah,” the guy said with a chuckle, “I’ll wait.”

Hotch listened to the sound of the receiver for a moment, staring at the entrance to the bank like it would provide him the answers he still needed. He had his suspicions of what might be happening, but with no eyes in the back anymore and the trigger-happy group that had formed around him, he wouldn’t have the resources to convince them not to go in guns blazing.

“We’re ready to move in.” Which is exactly what they had requested.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He stated before finally moving to look at the man next to him, “Something isn’t right here.”

“Yeah, a lot isn’t right here. There’s 19 innocent people in there.”

It didn’t really matter how many times he went through this situation; the results always seemed to be the same. No one listened, even when it wasn’t one of their men inside.

“Storming the building isn’t going to help them. There are three armed perpetrators inside, and they’re each in a different area. It would be impossible for us to take out all three at once. Especially now that we can’t see in the back. There could be explosives in there for all we know.”

The man was unpersuaded.

“If we can’t save them all, minimizing casualties is the name of the game.”

“Wait a few more minutes. I’m waiting to hear back from our analyst. If they have the capability of flying a plane, its highly likely they also have the knowledge and skills to create weapons that we aren’t currently prepared to handle.”

Although still unconvinced, the man grudgingly gave in to the request. Hotch closed his eyes, trying to be grateful for the extremely small victory; they’d gained a few more minutes. But the relief was short lived, with Morgan putting his phone aside for a second to mutter the same thing Hotch was thinking.

“Hotch, these people are way too confident. It’s like they know there’s a way out.”

As soon as he said the words, the two just looked at each other.

“Garcia, can you also check for any other way out of the bank?” He asked, walking back over to the table laid out under the nearby tent. This would have been a great time for Reid to be here, he thought as he stared at the ridiculously complicated schematics.

He understood they didn’t want people to be able to figure them out (so they couldn’t rob the bank), but this was just ridiculous. It looked ancient.

“Sure thing, but… Morgan, I think there’s something else you should see.” The nerves dancing in her voice told him that they were about to switch subjects. “You know how the guy disabled the camera feed in the back room. I was reviewing the footage we do have and it looks like… (y/n) told him to.”

“Why would she do that?” He asked, furrowing his brow as he glanced over to the ornate bank doors. Part of him wanted to joke that things would’ve been a lot simpler if he didn’t have to worry about Reid’s weird girlfriend, but it didn’t feel as funny when they were both in danger.

Maybe later, he thought hopefully, when they were all together again.

“I… don’t know why. But I did what you asked, and I went through her record and found a ton of sealed files on her and also her dad…”

Morgan’s attention was definitely piqued at that point, but he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. In the stunned silence, Penelope spoke again.

“Should… Should I unseal them?”

It was the same question he was debating in his head, and he honestly didn’t know. Although a long shot, he hoped that she could provide at least the bare minimum of context before they made that kind of decision.

“What kind of files are we talking about?”

“I can’t be sure until I unseal them b-but, I mean, they’re sealed for a reason and I’m talking scary sealed. Like, it might take me a minute sealed. Giving me the heebie-jeebies sealed.” She grew more frantic as she continued. Morgan knew they were running out of time.

“I get it.”

“Is Reid okay?” She switched gears, recognizing that Morgan’s hesitance meant it was probably a bad idea. She wasn’t going to push it unless he did. They didn’t even know if she could help even if they unsealed the files. Especially without a visual.

“They know he’s with us,” Morgan sadly admitted, “I don’t know what’s going on. Did you find another way out of the bank?”

“Right.” The conversation was going to give everyone involved whiplash at this point. “Yes! There is an access way through tunnels underneath the bank but it would take a massive distraction for all three of them to be able to get out of there without us meeting them on the other side. I’m talking earth shatterin–.”

She didn’t finish the sentence, her tongue halting the second her mind caught up with her voice. Morgan was equally concerned, recognizing the kind of distraction that this might require and the perfect way to escape with maximum damage.

But that wasn’t what got his attention. There was no fiery explosion or shouted epiphany, because at that same time there were the muffled sounds of gunshots coming from inside.

“Oh my god, what was that?!” Garcia yelled, accompanied by frantic clicking as she filtered through each individual camera to try and locate the source of the noise.

“Garcia, do you have eyes on the main room?”

“Yes! But it wasn’t in the main room, Derek, it was in the back!”

It was a difficult and necessary job, to consider what those sounds might mean for the young girl they’d met only a few weeks earlier. Morgan’s thoughts went even further, not only worried about her safety, but his best friend’s sanity. Lord knows Reid didn’t need another thing weighing on his conscience. Especially not about her; it just might destroy him.

“What does the unsub in the main area look like? Does he look confused? Surprised?” The words were coming, but he didn’t know where from. His body was on autopilot, desperately seeking any validation that they could still save everyone.

“I-I don’t know! He looks grainy! The image is like an inch wide!” She was clearly growing frustrated, which was a feeling they all shared at this point. “This camera is from before I was even born!”

“Try, Penelope,” Morgan pleaded, “Give me something.”

But the other men weren’t willing to wait.

“That’s it. We’re moving in.”

Morgan turned to them, his hand clutching tighter to the phone just in time for her to speak.

“He’s calling for them but they’re not coming out. He looks… Oh no. He’s yelling at Reid now. And... And it looks like someone is coming down the hallway? But he’s not looking–”

It was impossible to focus on everything that was happening, heavy boots and massive commotion as people began to take their positions. But if someone was coming down the hallway, and the unsub didn’t know, that could only mean a few things. Either he was about to be proven disposable, or someone else had fired those shots.

Either way, one thing was clear.

“Wait! We can’t go in there yet!”

—————————————————

There was a point in time where I might have questioned whether I would ever get used to a gun in my face. There was also a point where I actually had gotten used to it. But nothing could have prepared me for this moment, this terrifying realization while staring down the barrel of an assault rifle that I didn’t want to die yet.

I used to think that my life was somewhat disposable. Sure, I was helpful and useful for my job, but ultimately, I considered myself replaceable. The next person to come might not have the same credentials, but they probably wouldn’t also have half the flaws I do.

But now I wasn’t thinking of work. I wasn’t thinking about how replaceable I was, because it wasn’t my life that mattered.

I didn’t want to die yet, because I wanted to see her again.

So I just stared at the weapon, trying to remember that it was still a great possibility that I could. I tried not to think about what was in front of me, choosing to use most of my brainpower to picture what it would feel like when I had her in my arms again.

The vision inside my head ended swiftly, with the sound of rapidly fired weaponry coming from down the hall. Through the commotion of screaming, I surmised that at least two guns had been fired.

Silence followed. It was a stifling, exhausting, painful silence.

What broke it was even worse, with the gun in my face smacking into the side of my head as the man holding it lost his grip at the sound.

“What the fuck was that?!”

He looked at me like he expected me to have the answers, but I didn’t.

“I don’t know. I-I don’t—“ Not only did I not understand why two guns would fire, I didn’t know who had shot them or for what reason. There was one thing I did know. “It sounded like your weapons.”

“Hey, what’s going on back there?!” He shouted, twisting his body just enough to see around the corner.

There was no reply.

“Did your people get in here somehow?” The panic was obvious, and I didn’t know how to calm him down without arousing suspicion. He was continuing to devolve, stepping closer to me as he stuck with his original thought, “How the fuck could they have done that, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is there anything you do know?”

It was a question I’d been asking myself. The longer the silence continued in the back, the more rapidly my anxiety rose. There are only a few reasons why we wouldn’t hear more screaming.

Either someone had managed to get remarkable control over the situation, or all of the hostages were dead. Including (y/n). I forced myself to consider the far less likely, but still possible third option: She was dying, and I could still help her.

“I know that there is still a way for you to get out of this.” I barely recognized my own voice as I rambled, “Is it possible your partners… Is it possible they were planning on leaving together?”

“What?” He sounded disgusted and exhausted, but simultaneously insecure. It didn’t take much effort to realize that he was the weakest of the crew. I’d already had my suspicions that whatever the next step in this journey was, he wasn’t going to be making it with them regardless.

“It was their decision to leave you out here, right? In the place with the most windows and the first access to the door? They put you with all the people most likely to fight back. And now it sounds like…”

I paused, my lips unable to make the next words without a deep breath. “It sounds like they killed the people in the back as a diversion to send in SWAT. Does that sound like something they would do?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That was enough confirmation for me. It was definitely something they would do, and he knew it. He probably suspected it himself. Thankfully, it gave me enough courage to push back for the first time in this encounter. “Then go back there and see if they’re still there.”

“And just let you be hero and save all these guys? No chance.”

I wanted to laugh; if only he knew the real reason I wanted him to go back there. As terrible as it was, I didn’t care at all about the rest of these men right now. As far as I knew, they were relatively safe. In fact, they were in a better position if what I’d deduced was true. This man, while violent, wasn’t the kind to murder everyone in sight, even when cornered. He’d more likely be shot by SWAT.

“I’ll come with you.” It was a plea, a desperate attempt to get more information that I both wanted and feared. He watched me carefully, trying to read the terror on my face to determine where exactly it was coming from. He knew the hostages were useless to him if he had me, so I wasn’t particularly scared for my life.

At least, not just yet.

“Fine. Get up.”

I willed my legs to stop shaking; to just carry me far enough that I could see her face. I just needed to know that she was okay.

But then I felt a fine mist over my skin— it almost felt like the noise happened after, but I knew logically that couldn’t be true.

A gun fires before the bullets hit their target.

Time seemed to move slower as his body fell to the ground in front of me. My eyes followed him to the floor, but only until I saw the person holding the gun through my peripherals.

“...(y/n)?”

And there she was, clutching tightly onto a rifle, her body barely upright as she staggered forward. There was something remarkably off-putting about the sight of her holding on for dear life to something so morbid. A jarring contrast I would not soon be able to forget, if I ever could.

There was something even more unsettling about the ease with which she carried the weapon, and the fact that she had managed to fire something that powerful without a single stray bullet.

“They’re dead!” She boomed across the room, dropping the weapon onto the floor before she yelled again, “Everyone get out! Hurry!”

No one moved. All of the men, myself included, stared at the tiny girl who’d just saved all of our lives.

“Get out now! There’s a bomb in the back!”

Those were the magic words to stir a panicked crowd into action, people stampeding to the single double door at the entrance, but my eyes were fixed on her. She staggered forward, her arm around her waist and her eyes beginning to roll back.

Perhaps I was just clueless, my one-track mind too slow to navigate the scene in front of me, but it took me that long to see it. My brain rioted against the visuals it took in, the dark crimson dripping down her body. It looked like it would swallow her whole.

I tried to will my body to move, to run to her and do something, anything to help her. But I couldn’t, frozen in place as her small steps got weaker. It wasn’t until I saw her begin to sway that I lunged forward just in time to catch her before she hit the ground.

“Wait!” I screamed to anyone who would listen, my eyes frantically trying to meet someone in the crowd, “Someone get a medic!”

The woman with a child was the last one to pass. She stopped among the commotion, looking down at the carnage in my lap before bolting towards the door.

I had to trust that she would care enough to do something, because from that point on my attention wouldn’t be leaving (y/n). Her eyes were glassy, staring off into the distance and wandering aimlessly despite my face being in view.

“Hey, hey little girl.” My voice crackled as I held her cheek, “Hey, look at me.”

She was finally able to meet my gaze, her eyes filling with love with a small, delirious smile gracing her lips.

“Hey old man.”

The grin didn’t last long, the sounds of her choking and coughing replacing it as blood filled her mouth. I tried to turn her enough that she could spit it out, but it was obvious she was struggling to get any air at all.

“We’re gonna get you some help, okay?” I said with a false confidence, the twisted curve of my lips not even barely resembling a smile.

“It hurts,” she sobbed, her hands slipping in the blood on her stomach.

“I know.”

There wasn’t anything I could do; all I could do was sit there and stare, trying to decide where my hands should be. She was applying pressure to her wound on the front, but I could see the wreckage that was once her back. My hands wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m sleepy.”

“I know.” I was trembling, tears dripping from my face and mixing with the bloody mess; they still couldn’t dilute it, somehow make it vanish. “I know you’re tired. But you’ve gotta stay awake, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

At first, I wanted to say the innocence in her voice was surprising, but it wasn’t. She was innocent. She was just a young girl, trying to live a happy, normal life before she met me.

“You’re doing great.” I tried to convince myself this wasn’t my fault, but it didn’t work. She had said it herself — she wouldn’t have ever come to a bank on her own. The statistics of the rarity of this situation kept playing on a loop in the back of my head, but it was just a low hum beneath the sound of her pained whimpers.

“Spencer, I need to tell you something.” The newfound insistence in her voice twisted in my gut, and my hands held tighter to her arm.

“No, don’t,” I begged, already anticipating what was going to happen. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I have to tell you right now.” And then her voice was calm, a smile on her face as her blood-soaked hand left her stomach, trying to raise to touch me. It didn’t make it.

“No, you can tell me later.”

The words were so slurred and pathetic, I’m surprised she understood them. But she did, taking a deep, whistling breath. It was clear it hurt her to speak, and I wanted to tell her to be quiet, but the masochist in me needed to hear the words all the same.

“Spencer, please. Just listen to me.”

This sounded too much like a goodbye.

“I love you.”

Our bodies rocked as I realized I hadn’t taken a breath of my own in too long, the pain in my oxygen deprived lungs not nearly enough to distract me from the genuine softness of her voice.

“I love you so much,” she whispered, “Do you know that?”

I don’t know how she wasn’t crying, her eyes barely open but too tired to blink. That rosy complexion had faded, her skin blanching the longer she lay in my arms.

“Yes, I know.”

“I love you with my whole heart.”

My mind was flashing images from only a couple hours prior, her warm laugh as she laid on my lap, the way her hair slipped between my fingers while I wove it together.

‘You think you’ll still be around?’

‘If you’ll have me.’

The memories were blurring together, creating a symphony of promises that were about to be shattered in front of my eyes.

‘Forever,’ she’d said. ‘Forever.’

‘A white picket fence. Two little bratty genius babies. Just a normal, domestic life with Dr. and Mrs. Reid.’

Rejecting the thought, I shook my head, “You’re going to be fine.”

“I understand what you meant when…” Her voice was too quiet, too distant, to be this warm. “When you said it was nice to be able to say it.”

The heavy footfalls and sound of a transport bed wheeling across the floor alerted me that I would have to let her go soon. Whether this would be the last time I ever held her, I couldn’t be sure.

“They’re gonna come take you now, but I’ll be right behind them. I promise.” I barely got the words out before their hands were all over her, those tired eyes shooting wide open as unfamiliar hands replaced mine.

“Wait, Spencer!” She cried out, her body too limp to make a meaningful attempt to stop them, “Don’t leave me!”

Her screams and sobs were ringing louder than the gunshots had, my body slowly making its way upright as I watched them place her on the bed.

“I’m not leaving you, I promise.” I tried not to let the panic bleed through, raising the volume as she started to be taken away from me, “Stay awake as long as you can.”

I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her attempts to scream. If she was calling my name, it wasn’t recognizable. I’m not sure which hurt worse— the sound of her tired lips butchering my name, or the silence that followed.

She wasn’t able to scream anymore.

When I emerged from the bank, the sun burned my eyes just as much as the sight of my team shocked to see me covered in blood. But I couldn’t focus on them at all, immediately bolting after the paramedics without another thought.

The extra time it took them to carefully load her allowed me to jump into the back of the vehicle before the doors shut. There were no words to describe this situation, nor make it any better.

So I just stared in horrified fascination, trying to gauge her odds as they rapidly changed in front of me. Of 107,141 firearm injuries last year, 31% died. How many of the 69% had assault rifle wounds? I couldn’t remember any other statistics. My brain had turned itself off, focusing only on the frantic beeping and scrambled voices.

“Where is he?” Her tiny voice cut through both the internal and external noise.

“I’m right here.” I nearly shouted from my precarious position standing in the back of the rattling ambulance. I wanted to move closer, but I was too scared. There were so many hands on her, and I didn’t want to get in the way.

“I’m scared.” She said, mirroring my exact thoughts.

“I’m right here.” I repeated, closing my eyes to hide from the carnage long enough to put words together that might make her feel any ounce of comfort, “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

Taking an experimental step forward once the paramedics seemed settled in their places, I came to stand behind her. My hands were tinted red and trembled as they reached out to touch her cheeks.

She took a sharp inhale at the sensation, just barely holding her head up straight. I couldn’t tell if she was leaning into my touch or just couldn’t control her neck any longer. Her skin felt like ice, and although she was still beautiful, the blue tint creeping over her face struck fear in my heart.

“How much longer until we get to the hospital? Her body temperature is dropping.”

If she heard me, she didn’t respond. I stared at the paramedic who was obviously more concerned with other things at the moment. They were kind enough to give me a response, even if it wasn’t a satisfying one.

“Just a few more minutes. We can’t do anything until we stop the bleeding, sir.”

“Spencer…” Each time she spoke was simultaneously terrifying and comforting. It was confirmation she was alive, but also troublesome, because I knew that she should be reserving her efforts for staying alive.

“Hang in there, little girl. We’re almost there.”

She opened her eyes, staring up at me with clouded vision. I could see the pain so clearly it might as well have been me on the table.

“Please help me,” she sobbed, “help me.”

“I-I can’t.” They were the two hardest words I’d ever had to say. Frustration mounted in me, but none of it was directed at her. She didn’t do anything wrong. Myself, on the other hand, I hated myself in that moment.

She was begging for me to help her, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but stand here and watch as she bled out in the back of an ambulance, a stranger’s hands practically inside of her stomach.

“I don’t want to die.”

The way her voice cracked took whatever was left of my sanity with it, and I felt my fingertips slip in the blood as I pressed against her face.

“You won’t,” I tried to assure her, “You’re going to be fine. Just stay awake.”

“I can’t.” The usual spunk in her voice had faded, leaving behind the sound of a twenty year old girl with no fight left in her. “I’m so sorry, Spencer…”

‘Sorry?’ I thought below the horror, ‘for what?’

When her eyes shut, they couldn’t even make it all the way. It was an expression I’d seen before on the field. I wasn’t meant to see it on her.

“No. No, no, wake up.” I urged, patting her cheeks softly before closing my hands around them more tightly, “Wake up, little girl, please.”

I was talking to no one, because I don’t think she could hear me anymore. Absolutely nothing in her body changed, even as the paramedics became more rushed.

“I’ve located the bleed!” The woman beside me yelled as the ambulance began to rapidly slow down. “I’m sorry sir, but we need you to move.”

“Whatever you need. Please, just help her.” I’d said the words, but my actions didn’t follow. She stared down at my hands that were still tethered to (y/n)’s face, trying to provide the warmth that she desperately needed.

Somehow, I was able to wrench them away, only then realizing the bloody handprints I’d left behind. Her face still wasn’t moving.

“Please, I—“

Before I could say another word, they were already out of the ambulance. I followed as closely as I could behind them, trying to focus enough to ensure that every word said could be played again in my mind. Because the second she crossed the threshold into the surgery suite, I wouldn’t be able to hear them anymore.

I would have to wait. I would have to wait for her to be better, or wait for a declaration. And in that vast silence, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop from torturing myself with every single word uttered in this building before the doors closed.

The doors were ahead of us now, and I wished time could slow down enough that I could give her one more kiss and tell her to be strong one more time before she went into the Schrodinger’s Box that was the emergency room operating table.

I wanted to tell her that I loved her, and when the thought crossed my mind, I realized that I’d never said it back. She’d said it three times, but in my adamant denial I’d failed to return it.

It was so much like us, I’d almost laughed. She’d made such a point of worrying about me leaving her, neither of us had ever stopped to think about how I’d live without her.

How would I live without her? The only person I trusted to have an answer was wheeled into the room, the door shutting abruptly in front of me.

In the reflection of the metal door I saw myself, drenched in the dark liquid. I tried to clean my face with my hand only to realize that they, too, were dirty with her blood.

The world had fallen silent, and I let myself be crushed by the overwhelming loneliness of an existence without her.

‘Don’t miss me too much, Dr. Reid.’

It was too late.

—————————————————

| Part 15 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #reid series #dr spencer reid #h2m #spence reid #spencer reid request #reid request

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ushidoux · 3 years

Text

Be My Last - Iwaizumi x Reader (Pt. 3)

Summary: You have trouble getting over a past relationship and it’s preventing you from moving forward. (~2.5k words)

Warnings: again poor communication!!! angst, no sex in this chapter

A/N: Let me know what you think!

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

---

“Oi, you fucking bastard, you knew!”

Iwa losing his temper over the phone wasn’t exactly atypical, even if it had become a less frequent occurrence, but for once Oikawa was actually genuinely surprised to hear his friend this angry over the phone. Especially given that it was almost 2pm in San Juan, which made it the very early AM in Tokyo, so whatever had worked him up had also kept him up way past his bedtime, given that Iwa was now extremely careful about his sleep hygiene.

Oikawa took enough time to properly swallow the bite he’d just taken of his choripan before answering.

“What did I know, Iwa-chan?” He finally inquired, setting down his sandwich in the wrapper spread across his lap before leaning back into the park bench on which he was sitting. It was a wonderful sunny day, the type of day where it was a shame you were being yelled at, he mused briefly.

“About ___ and Ushijima.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows furrowed, not that Iwa could see the confusion on his face. There was a short pause which Oikawa broke eventually.

“Am I missing something or…?” His genuinely confused tone didn’t serve in any way to make Iwa less irritated.

“You didn’t say anything!” He hissed loudly enough that Oikawa winced, holding his cellphone a good distance from his ear before answering. “You used to tell me about that motherfucker’s every move, and now that it’s useful information, you have nothing to say?”

Oikawa frowned.

“Why are you blaming me for your communication issues, Iwa-chan?!” He all but whined.

When Iwa’s voice grew silent on the other line, Oikawa grew slightly nervous. But he was right. This was a particularly severe lapse in communication between Iwa and you that he was now projecting onto him, severe because clearly it had ended up being a bigger deal than it should have been in the first place.

As much as Iwa didn’t want to admit it, yesterday evening was evidence that something was very, very wrong in his relationship with you, or at the very least a residual tangled web of feelings to sort out, and it wasn’t exactly something he could easily fix or improve on his own.

Not that he wouldn’t try.

“What happened?” Oikawa finally asked, and Iwa retreated.

“Nothing. I’ll… talk to you later.”

The phone cut off on Iwa’s end and Oikawa sighed with mild irritation before returning to his lunch thousands of miles away.

On the other side of the globe, Iwa made his way from the balcony to the bedroom, setting his phone down on the nightstand and taking a glance at you who had appeared to be finally sleeping soundly, but betrayed by the intermittent soft hiccups of someone who had been crying just moments earlier.

He hadn’t meant to make you cry. In fact, he hadn’t even meant to force another discussion at all, but hours after the last guests had filed out, none the wiser about the fight that had just transpired earlier (even if Hinata had made a single innocent comment about the bruise blooming on Ushijima’s cheek), the elephant in the room had grown entirely too large for him to bear. Unfortunately, the simple demand for clarification had spiraled out of control and ended up with a shouting match which had culminated in you bursting into tears.

It wasn’t a good look for him to behave like this.

Even so, Iwa couldn’t stop thinking about how the subject of your argument had replied to his grumbled apology with the admission that he probably deserved the hit for all he’d done. Somehow, the persistent remorse in his voice made Iwa consider hitting him a second time for good measure.

That wouldn’t be the right move either. There wasn’t really a right move, was there? All Iwaizumi could do was hope that everything would blow over.

You loved him after all; he was sure of it.

---

you knew, didn’t you?

knew what?

You grit your teeth at the quickly returned text message, then set your phone down at your desk letting out a hushed but aggravated sigh, before picking it up again and typing furiously.

you texted me, ‘how’s everything going?’ right before all that shit happened.

that could mean literally anything??? What???

You didn’t know how much longer your friend was going to feign innocence, but it looked like not very long because once your eyes flitted back to the unfinished project proposal you had been working on, your phone quickly buzzed again.

By the time you had told her what happened this morning on your morning commute to work, she had grown a little too quiet, interjecting very little as you spoke and not asking any clarifying questions. You had assumed that she had just been being extra considerate, but now that it was early afternoon and there was a lull in your concentration, it occurred to you again just how clearly she must have anticipated the awkward situation.

YOU said you didn’t follow sports anymore + it’s been 3 years. HOW was I supposed to know you were going to overreact?

Overreact?

There was a small pause in which you saw her speech bubble pop up and then down, and then up again.

Not overreacting I guess, but I’m just confused… Don’t you and Iwa talk? How did it become a huge deal?

You decided you didn’t really have an answer to that. All you could do was return a noncommittal idk, letting the conversation die out and returning back to the task at hand.

---

“Mommy, why does he look like that?”

Ushijima glanced for a split second at the small child pointing openly at him, giving a small, understanding nod to the mortified mother trying to quiet her son’s whispers before continuing on his way back to his hotel.

His face didn’t exactly throb anymore, but the bruise he had been gifted with was very noticeable even if he had to be thankful he didn’t have a black eye. Iwa had hit him surprisingly hard, which was good. At the very least, he could count on him to protect you.

Getting hit in the face by your athletic trainer wasn’t ideal but he and Iwaizumi were both professionals. They could put it past them.

Even if they didn’t have a deep friendship, there was a sort of camaraderie since they’d met in California years ago. That relationship didn’t have to sour, he told himself.

He just needed to give you two a wide berth.

Even if he didn’t want to, he had to. It was the right, mature thing to do.

Even if he didn’t miss on the court, he’d missed a crucial set in life.

He had no right to demand a second chance.

---

You hadn’t traveled home alone in a while, you realized, as you set pace towards your apartment after a long shift. The subway was cramped as usual, but the closeness of the quarters felt more noticeable and uncomfortable now that Iwa’s hand wasn’t holding yours and keeping you close to him. He’d messaged you about an hour before you were about to leave work to give you a heads up that he would be returning late, and for a moment, you wondered if it were really true or if he was still mad at you.

But you knew Iwa well enough to be confident that he didn’t hold grudges, and if he were still uncomfortable he would tell you - he would never actively avoid you.

Then again, you hadn’t had a conflict like this before.

I don’t love him, I only love you, you’d said to him almost screaming, defensive because Iwa’s voice had sounded hurt when you failed to come up with the words to explain why you were so shaken still.

You’d meant that with your whole heart. So why exactly did you react so poorly?

Maybe it was the final death rattle of unresolved feelings, rearing their ugly head before being banished to whatever realm past hurts went once they were healed.

When you finally made it to your apartment, you stood for a moment at the entryway after flipping the light switch, taking a couple of seconds to blink away the fact that things didn’t look quite right.

For a moment, you couldn’t remember exactly when you had replaced your TV - was that before or after Ushijima? Had that couch always been in that position?

Fatigue even made you wonder where your houseplants had gone, until you remembered you had all but given them all away, telling yourself that those last vestiges of your relationship would have to vanish before you could truly count yourself moved on.

Now that the plants were gone, were you truly over it?

You let out a sigh and set your keys down before shooting a message to Iwa to let him know that you had made it home. That proposal wouldn’t write itself, and you could tackle it anew once you’d treated yourself with a warm bath and a modest glass of wine.

---

Seated in his soon-to-be minimally used office, Iwaizumi leafed through the short stack of papers before him, including prior athletic history and a formal written statement from the team physician. Satisfied, he gathered the documents and gently pushed them across the desk towards the silent, patiently waiting athlete sitting across from him.

“It looks like you’re cleared for practice tomorrow,” he said, offering a measured smile to Ushijima.

“Not that I expected any issues,” Iwa continued, compelled to keep speaking from the lack of response from the man before him. While he didn’t exactly sense hostile energy from Ushijima, it seemed like he was even more difficult to read than usual.

Then again, Iwa was unsure if he was projecting; he acknowledged that prior to this very moment in time, he had been more standoffish than usual, having avoided unnecessary interaction with Ushijima during the day’s orientation activities.

He took a surreptitious glance at the wall clock above his head. There were only two more members to clear after Ushijima and then he’d be done for the day and could go back home to you, maybe picking up sushi on the way home as a peace offering.

Ushijima didn’t exactly look like he was getting ready to leave, but Iwa hadn’t explicitly dismissed him.

The two sat in an awkward silence and Iwa wondered if he should apologize again to settle the stagnant air between them, not knowing that the man before him was considering the exact same thing.

What happens now? seemed to be the question du jour.

“How’s your father?” Iwa asked abruptly, shifting in his chair and leaning forward on elbows propped onto the desk, maybe a little too forward, in attempts to keep his mind off the fact that the volleyball player before him had also played with his love’s heart.

“He’s been well. Thank you for asking.”

Another pause ensued and Iwa was running out of ways to tell him politely to get out of his office for his next client, but for once Ushijima was the one to break the silence.

“I want us to have a good working relationship despite everything.”

The statement hung in the air for a second before settling and Iwa could feel irritation start to bubble in the pit of his stomach once again, but instead he forced a pleasant smile.

“Of course.”

---

With feet tucked beneath you, your laptop perched on the glass coffee table and a half-drunk glass of white wine (refilled once) atop the end table next to the couch, the sad truth was that you had only written about five lines in the past 45 minutes.

Instead, against all the advice you’d ever been given in your life, you had sleuthed your way into your ex’s Instagram and Facebook accounts, gleaning as much information as you could about what had happened after you were two, after you’d blocked him cold turkey on every social media application and vowed never to look back.

As expected, the pictures and life updates he posted were few and far between, but there were still some to learn from, especially when you looked through those snapshots taken by others in his life. You were initially surprised to see old pictures of you together still up if you went back far enough, but clicked past them quickly because the fact that you looked so happy was more irritating than sad at this point of time.

You took another sip of your wine, feeling a soft warmth in your cheeks and a light pleasant haze fill your head while you kept perusing. Some pictures you recognized from his prior team here, Schweiden Adlers, and then there were other promotional images from a new team, Orzel Warsawa... He had even traveled to Poland without your knowledge, you mused.

You took special note of women he looked all too close to for friendship as you browsed, noting a gorgeous, tall blonde in several pictures he appeared to have dated for a brief stint of a couple of months.

1 short relationship in three years. It was a shame, you thought. They could have had the prettiest kids.

And there, you finally realized your internal monologue was crazy. Why were you doing this again?

You threw back the final bit of wine and switched back to your Word document. Maybe writing while a little tipsy wasn’t the best of ideas but any words on the page were better than none.

…

It didn’t take long for you to doze off and your boyfriend to find you sprawled on your belly on the sofa, your glass empty and precariously placed at the edge of the sofa, and your laptop placed just inches above your head.

Iwa’s smile was immediate as he admired your silly position while setting down dinner, quickly walking over to gather you up for bed.

You murmured slightly as he scooped you into his arms, your face instinctively nuzzling his chest. He couldn’t help but think of how cute you were, kissing your forehead softly before tucking you under the covers. You had been so exhausted lately from work, so he’d let you get some early shuteye rather than disturb your peace.

Leaving the bedroom to eat dinner alone on the couch, he noted your laptop in suboptimal location, moving it to the table before sitting down to avoid a future accident.

It flashed on with the slight movement, revealing a lengthy document with heavy blocks of text, which he saved just in case because autosave failure would bring you to tears. He then clicked out, only to see the results of your cyberstalking session.

His heart may have skipped a beat or two but he closed your laptop instead, leaning back into his chair to finish eating dinner.

The uneasiness that filled his stomach instead had to be related to the raw fish he’d brought home.

There was simply no other explanation, couldn’t be.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwa x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #ushijima #haikyuu x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #series: be my last #mae.writing

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ash-writies · 3 years

Text

A Rainy Morning pt 5

A/n: I think there are two more after this, i wrote the ending, it’s kinda iffy so I might change it idk. I hope you enjoy!!!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four x Part Six, Part Seven

Y’all began to move down the street

Walking fast

Anyway

They were all so hype

Jumpin’ around

Giggling n shi-

The only one who seemed unfazed was Mako

Once y’all got to the store, you told them the rules

And like the rats in ratatouille

They scattered

Weird visualization but okay

Anyway you were waiting on the paperwork

It took you a bit to find someone but when you did they got it done fast

Once you exchanged the stuff you noticed one of the cashiers eyeing you

You shoved the pages in your bag and walked away

You paid no attention as you checked on the krew

They said they were basically done

Thankfully

You checked out with a different employee and continued with your day

It was about mid afternoon

Y’all stopped at a cafe and ordered some snacks

Obvi y’all wanted fresh air for a bit

So y’all sat at an outside table and ate

Korra and Asami were making a scene

A cute one but still-

Mako looked like he was being forced to eat

He still conversed with the krew but

He just looks mad all the time :/

Bolin was talking with you about the things he got from the store

He didn’t take them out, just incase so they wouldn’t get dirty

Overall everyone, even mako, was having a good time

There was a single roll of thunder as a warning

There was only one second to reacting before it started raining

You guys shoved the bags of clothes under your shirts and started running

You were at your front door before you realized that you left your phone at the cafe

“Oh shoot, I gotta go back for it,” you say as you unlocked the door to let them in

“I’ll go with you,” Bolin said

He took off his outer shirt

(y’all know? Like when the earth queen was coming and he had to hide pabu? I like to think it was sleeveless)

“Don’t wait up,” he called out as you both started running back towards the cafe

When you got there you talked to the manager and they said they had it

As you both left the rain was getting harder

But that summer humidity wasn't the thing making the air thicker

“Um...y/n?” Bolin said after a few steps

“Yeah?” you answered

“Remember how you said that I can talk to you if I need to?”

You stopped and gave him a comforting smile

“Of course you can talk to me, Bolin! What's on your mind?”

#bolin lok #bolin x reader #bolin x you #bolinxreader #bolin x y/n #mako lok #asami lok #korra lok #lok #legends of korra

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sporadic-writer · 4 years

Text

Welcome to the Neighborhood pt. 2

Note: ok so I know that not all of the boys, meaning both twins, live with the others. And I know my update schedule sucks but I go in a block and funk. Sorry guys. I just want you to read something I would read and truly enjoy. Also, I think I may make this a Haz fic bc ones about hin deserves more love and notes.

No one really reads these but I also think I'll write this for Harrison bc when Tom posted the pic of Nadia, it shattered the illusion in my head lol and it feels weird to a certain extent to write when he is most likely dating her. Don't get me wrong, I'm so happy for him and he doesn't know I exist, but it feels odd idk. So im pausing on Tom stuff atm lol. Harrison is single as far as publicly that ik so thats that 😅

Pairing: Harrison x Reader (most likely)

Warnings: mentions of weed, alcohol, and swearing. I enjoy all these things responsibly and ik im not the only one. As always stop reading if you dont like something.

Part 1 here initial teaser here (got around 100 notes soo 😎 check that out)

°•○•°○°•○•°○°•○•°

“Alrighty boys. That’s enough about me, tell me about yourselves. I only know this one from the big screen and that 2 of you are brothers.” You gestured to Tom as you spoke about him. “And from basic eavesdropping I gather you are all very close.”

Tom smiled, “Actually I’m a brother to the twins, older obviously.” It was fun having a celeb lounging in your hot tub, drinking a beer with you. “But yeah I am an actor, Spider-Man as you probably know. Harrison’s an actor too!”

“Oh my god you are! I watched Catch-22 on Hulu! Comedy my ass..! I balled my eyes out several times.” He had the nerve to laugh in response. “Don’t laugh! That shit got intense quick. Then the shot where you all are swimming? Killed me. I don't know how I didn't notice you. Sorry!”

“Did you at least like it?” He smiled and asked hopefully. When you nodded yes he beamed! “Well then that’s all that matters. I will say an American accent is hard.”

You brought your beer up to your lips. “Yeah because your guys’ accent is so easy. You make fun of how different areas in America have different accents but it’s the same here!” They nodded in agreement at your words. You leaned your head back a tad and enjoyed the warm water. “Southern accents have different twangs bepending on the area, I have family that lives closer to New England, that's something all in its own. Just like here. You got London, Wales, some place called Essex and other places more north of here. It's not just the US." You reached over for your joint to finish it amongst the bubbles. "Now for real. Tell me about yourselves. Harrison you start I guess."

"Why me?"

"Shorter wikipedia page." You smirk as you re-lit your herb. The guys laughed and made 'ooh' noises to tease. "I'm kidding! Relax a touch. I just picked your name because you are right in front of me."

"Well I've known this lot since we were all kids. Tom and I went to school together and we have been stuck with each other since. I was his personal assistant for a while too." You listened as he spoke. Sweat was building up on his face from the hot tub. It added a nice shine to his, and everyone's faces. In order to avoid makeup running everywhere you sat up as you listened to him. You watched his eyes watch your movements as you took a hit and slowly exhaled. Almost like he was relaxing from watching someone relax from getting high without actually doing so. He kept going and you realized you zoned out a tad. "And then I wanted to do more than just model so I did more auditions and Catch-22 became my biggest so far."

You nodded, noting you heard and were listening. "That's cool and all but tell me like favorite song, movie, animal! Hahaha it isn't everyday famous people are in my hot tub. I'm going to savor this first encounter!" He smiled and answered your sort of questions. You offered the joint around before it finished. Tom passed, Tuwaine and Harrison took quick hits though. "But yeah that is me. Now someone else go so I don't have the spot light on me anymore." He looked at you as he said that and handed you the last bit. You winked in thanks, and to flirt lightly. (Shoot your shot right?) "Same questions to you love."

You responded your favorite song, movie, and color to him. "Yeah I like a bit of everything. But funny movies are my favorite. Obviously I like Marvel too Tom don't worry. Same goes for music but my preference ranges from new pop to older rock. I grew up on 80s alternative pop stuff." You smiled at him and he beamed in pride at the brand he represented. "Ok Sam you now."

Sam starts talking about his life and Harrison goes to grab more drinks. At this point the sun as almost finished setting and you tell the blonde how to turn the deck lights on. Soon the rows of edison bulbs flick on and a lovely mood is set. The glow isn't too bright and adds a nice light to your summer tanned skin. What you don't know is that the gentlemen appreciated the glow as well. However, they are too polite to say anything too bold after just meeting you.

If you could read minds or be sober enough to detect a certain lack of subtlety you would pick up on how the single men checked you out as you got out of the tub to get rid of the roach. Polite of course, 20 something men are going to appreciate a beautiful American girl right in front of them.

And if they could read your mind they would hear how you were taking in Tom and Harrison's jaw lines and toned muscles. How you appreciated Tuwaine's smile and height. Then add the twin's curls and freckles to the list and they'd think you were picking them like boys from a catalogue. Despite the slight oggling on your part, your eyes always wandered back to the blonde hair blue eyed boy the most. He seemed a little more laid back then Tom. Probably just because one was working more than the other, but that was just initial vibes you got. Regardless of vain appearance choices and vibe preference, all these boys were wonderful and you were just lucky enough your uncle's hot tub fit them all nicely.

Tuwaine smiled cheekily and spoke up. "Alright, we all have fresh drinks and proper buzzes. Let's make it fun and play a game. So Y/N, you went to college in the states, give us a classic drinking game and show us what you got."

"Ha! I don't know what you're looking for but I assume never have I ever is universal? You can't play kings or flip cup in a hit tub. Hold up 5 fingers, put them down if you've done said thing, drink as well."

"No fingers, just play till we are right pissed." Harry grinned and everyone else went along with it. "I will start. Never have I ever- wait this a normal game or sexy version?"

You said you didn't care and Tom said what the hell, so he continued. "Never have I ever gotten walked in on during a scandelous activity." Tom and Harrison both drank and groaned saying they have both walked in on each other at some point in life. Tuwaine continued.

"Never have I ever fooled around while someone else is in the room." There was a pause and no one drank. But then you rose your beer to your lips and they all looked at you in a manner of surprise and demand for explination.

Shrugging you said, "Old drunken hookup in school. We didn't know his roommate was in his top bunk asleep until it was too late. The mistake we made was keeping on going when we thought we heard him, because we did..."

"Wow Y/N. Learning a lot about the neighbor girl right away!"

"Shut up this game was your idea!" You laughed as you spoke in response to his teasing. "But whatever it's my turn now anyway. Never have I ever sent a dirty text to the wrong person." That got all but Harrison and you felt proud for getting them. "Alright so you are either morons or were in a rush to send that sext."

Tom defended himself saying her name was Sam and it was instant regret the second he realized.

Sam glared at him and said, "Yeah no one enjoyed that bro. I'm still shaken up about it."

"Get over yourself it was like 5 years ago! And you accidentally sent your friend Jake one, so pot, kettle, hi both black."

"It was detailed!"

You just sat there amused taking this all in. "I am so glad this happened tonight." You said more to yourself than them.

"Darling if this ends up in the tabloids we will never speak again." They were teasing with the threat. "But come on this is good let's keep going. Never have I ever done it in a car." You, Sam, and Tuwaine all drank and giggled.

The game continued on and another round of drinks were had. You learned Tuwaine had said the wrong name in bed. Also, that both Harry and Harrison have fooled around during family functions. In return they learned that you've hooked up in a college classroom and in a restaurant bathroom. That ended up getting you and your former boyfriend kicked out of the establishment. Towards the final round all were getting sleepier but still in a good mood.

"Never have I ever had sex high." Harrison challenged the group. No one drank. "Wait really? Thought I'd get you with that. Finish your beer and all." He looked at you as he spoke.

"Nope. Just never happened now that I've thought about it. Huh. You'd think right? But nope. Not that I'm opposed." You ended your statement by glancing his way while finishing your beer anyway. Harrison just watched the way your neck moved as you tilted your head back. "Ok boys this was fun but I am gettin tired."

Tom nodded. "Same here. Thank you for having us darling, it was fun!" The others spoke in agreement and you smiled at them saying they were welcomed back anytime. They offered to help clean but you grabbed the remaining bottles and told them you were good. After final goodbyes, you told them to not he strangers, you were all in your respective homes.

You went to bed pretty quick. Next door, at their place Tom, Harrison, and Sam lingered to get some water before bed. "She was really cool." Sam said while sipping water.

Harrison hummed in agreement. "Yeah I think so too. Very chill and all that."

Sam smirked and playfully said, "You just think she's fit mate." There was a pause.

"Well she is." It was Tom who said that and the others looked at him in playful shock. "What I'm not blind! She is! She's isn't some shy girl freaking out over us. She's cheeky and just seems normal about us living next to her. More Harrison's type though I'd say."

Sam laughed. "Yeah he always liked the classic American 'girl next door' type. Just a bonus she is actually American this time." They paused for Harrison to negate their statements but he just sipped his water and looked at them with a glint in his eyes. "Told you." Sam said as he took a sip. "She is better than half the models either of you bring back. Nuerons fire and she can keep a conversation. Not that all models are like that! But come on you went out with some stereotypes." Neither could disagree. Sometimes you just want to have a date with the beautiful face. Long term needs substance though, and both Tom and Harrison thought you had it all.

"We need to invite her over tomorrow, and any time she's free." Groundwork was to be established and Harrison was determined to get to know you more.

°•○•°○°•○•°○°•○•°

As always, like and reblog! I hope you like it! Also if i forget to tag someone lmk, same if you wanna be tagged or not tagged. Feedback and notes are appreciated but be nice haha I edit as best I can. Thanks for reading and enjoying.

Tags: @jillanaholland @averyfosterthoughts @sarah-m-limelight-2007 @astridcommings

#fanfic #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #harrison osterfield fanfiction #harrison osterfield x reader #tom holland #fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #harrison osterfield fluff #harrison osterfield

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wasdname · 4 years

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kakegurui anime vs manga pt. 2

ah, rei batsubami. she doesn’t exist in the manga, so every scene with her in the anime obviously isn’t in the manga. i think i will ignore the scenes with rei, since it’s anime-exclusive and everything else that happens isn’t really affected by rei being there or not. this post will mainly be comparing things that happened in the manga that didn’t happen in the anime for kakegurui xx (season 2). here’s a link to pt. 1 for season 1:

https://wasdname.tumblr.com/post/615241570260811776/kakegurui-anime-vs-manga-pt-1

LONG post with spoilers under the cut. season 2 had a lot more differences than season 1.

i’m going chronologically according to the anime. this might get confusing later, but bear with me. there’s a LOT to cover.

let’s jump into the very first two episodes of xx, when kirari announces there will be an election with the student council and the -bamis are introduced (ch. 34):

the one person who would know about kirari’s family would be, obviously, sayaka, kirari’s secretary. in the anime, sayaka has no clue who they are and kirari makes rei introduce them (more on that later).

after the introductions, we get reactions from each student council member. yuriko asks sayaka what she thinks about the situation:

and here we have the first major difference. in the manga, because tower of doors happened already, sayaka is much more confident and content both about herself and her relationship with kirari. she doesn’t need to understand everything that happens in kirari’s head, and sayaka knows that kirari doesn’t love or value sayaka any less because she doesn’t understand or for the things she chooses not to tell her. in the same way, kirari doesn’t understand sayaka all the time either, the difference being that kirari was never bothered by that as much as sayaka was bothered about it. SO, in the manga, we have a mutual understanding between the two characters now, thanks to tower of doors.

however, in the anime, sayaka reacts much differently and agrees with yuriko:

the fact that she doesn’t know who the -bami’s are also adds to pre-tower-of-doors sayaka’s growing list of “things kirari didn’t trust me enough to tell me”. they really want sayaka to suffer, huh?

i already wrote a bit about the meeting between kirari and terano (Ch. 36) in pt.1, so i’m going to skip over that to the next thing (but i’ll come back to this in a bit, it’s related, trust me), mary and ririka’s meeting (ch. 40). there’s a little bit of extra dialogue before mary takes off ririka’s mask:

it’s not that significant, but mary’s a little more animated in the manga, where in the anime she just kinda listens to what ririka’s saying without interrupting:

and then the mask comes off, and mary mentions ririka’s appearance:

“Kirari’s already exposed this face to the public. She doesn’t see it as any big secret.”

this line is interesting. i don’t know what to make of it yet. ririka is hiding her face, despite the fact that she claims kirari doesn’t care. so is ririka wearing the mask of her own volition? it’s easy to assume that kirari’s forcing ririka wear the mask, but that’s apparently not the case. i want to refer back to chapter 36 again, since it’s related here, the meeting between kirari, ririka, and terano:

notice how terano calls out ririka, not kirari, for doing this. why is that? was terano calling out ririka for being the one responsible for deciding when kirari and ririka switch identities, or was ririka just doing what kirari told her to and terano was calling ririka out for being kirari’s door-mat? or maybe i’m completely overthinking it (lol) and terano was just calling out ririka simply because she was the one in front of her? god i wish we could have seen how this scene played out.

we haven’t yet seen kirari and ririka interact at all, even in the manga. the mystery that is kirari and ririka’s relationship is one that i can’t wait to see unfold.

onward. there’s extra insight into miri’s feelings in the manga during the gamble vs. mary and suzui, when one of the sisters has to lose (season 2 ep. 4, ch. 43):

poor miri :( in the anime, she kinda just does what miyo tells her and faints, skipping over her thoughts about her sister threatening her.

this one isn’t significant at all but i thought it was funny, the first rankings (Season 2 episode 5, Ch. 44):

#9, horo joumaru.... exists (lol). in the anime, he wasn’t even ranked, instead being replaced by sumika.

this is where things might get a little hectic, because there’s multiple things in this one episode that is spread out over multiple chapters in the manga, but bear with me. in the same episode, rin and sumika challenge kirari to a gamble. the anime cuts to the second half of the gamble, but in the manga, there’s a little bit more build up (ch. 50):

and then kirari immediately proceeds to tear apart rin’s lie. god, i love kirari so much

and it’s at this point where the manga and anime match up and kirari goes “all in” a million times.

next is the yumemite vs sumika gamble (still season 2 ep. 5, but ch.51). the reason the manga is ahead here is because the anime moves the greater good game to after this gamble, but it happens earlier in the manga (ch. 45-49).

before the meeting, there was a scene that wasn’t included in the anime where mary and ririka are trying to find someone to gamble, which is why they weren’t in the pre-gamble meeting for the yumeko/yumemite vs sumika gamble. this is confusing because, chapter 46 (season 2 episode 5), the scene where mary decides she will work with ririka if she can win a gamble, didn’t happen yet. the anime kinda shoots itself in the foot here, and i’m still not sure why they decided to move things around they way they did, which resulted in the loss of this scene (maybe to build suspense for the greater good game? idk). i’m going to include it here, since it’s relevant, and we’ll go over the chapter 46 scene with mary/ririka in a bit when it happens in the anime. here’s the scene, at the very beginning of the yumeko/yumemite vs sumika meeting (ch.51):

“It’s a pity, but oh well...” the yumary ship is sailing

there was also a little bit more dialogue during the meeting where they’re discussing how to beat sumika that was kinda cute that didn’t make it into the anime:

“Let’s whip Kawaru Natari’s (i refer to her as sumika) butt!” “YEAH!” you dorks. i love them.

next is the scene with mary and ririka (back to ch. 46). mary’s a bit more aggressive in the manga:

but the main difference in the manga is that ririka wants mary to make good on her promise earlier about punching her if she wins:

which is kinda intense. then mary yells at ririka which makes her cry (which doesn’t happen in the anime):

the end result is the same, though. mary wants ririka to gamble to prove herself, and if she wins....

we get this killer line from mary in the manga which didn’t make it in the anime, because the whole punching thing wasn’t even in the conversation:

mary implies that she’s going to punch kirari, since it’s heavily implied that ririka is under kirari’s orders to work with mary (but who knows? i don’t think ririka ever explicitly says who she’s working for, but correct me if i’m wrong, i could have missed it). man, i wish they kept this scene intact in the anime.

next, season 2, episode 6 (ch. 53), yumeko and yumemite vs sumika:

in the manga, when it’s revealed that yumemite broke her finger in an attempt to trick sumika with a reflex, the crowd disapproves. the anime doesn’t show this. this leads to a little extra dialouge:

sumika is actually impressed by yumemite’s resolve, and even encourages yumemite to continue to pursue her dreams. imo, this adds more to why yumemite doesn’t want to win against sumika in the last round, even though this small scene wasn’t exactly necessary for the point to get across (the anime cut it), it’s just nice that it’s there, because it makes the reader acknowledge sumika’s charm/manipulative-ness as well, and shows that yumemite is completely moved by sumika in every way.

after round two, there’s another extra bit of dialogue that didn’t make it into the anime, which gives us a little more insight into what someone like sumika is doing here:

again, not that significant, but it’s there. she just wants to observe people, and what’s more “alluring” than her own crazy family? also, it doesn’t matter, but why are they naked?? i’m not complaining ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

it’s not that significant, but there’s another extra exchange between yumemite and sumika before the final round, when yumemite convinces herself she will lose in terms of talent no matter what:

everything else that happens is essentially the same.

mary is also shown checking up on this gamble in episode 5, at the beginning of all this:

in the same scene in the manga, she’s just walking with ririka behind her, without her phone:

good job, anime. they also show her checking her phone later in both the anime (at the very end of season 2 episode 6) and manga as well (ch. 55). it’s just nice because it shows that mary cares about her friends even if she can’t be there with them.

season 2 ep. 7 (Ch. 45-49), aka, the greater good gamble. there’s a little bit of dialogue the anime doesn’t show, about terano having to revise her plans (also, holy sh*t, when was terano expecting to defeat kirari?):

this isn’t too significant, but there’s a bit of extra dialogue about how many votes sumeragi earned and how she earned them when she’s conversing with manyuda that they didn’t show in the anime (ch.45):

there’s also a little bit of insight into sumeragi’s thoughts about terano and yumeko when they all get together for the greater good gamble, before they start playing (ch.45):

and again, some more extra pre-game stuff from ch.46, where we get to see a little more of ibara’s personality and sumeragi’s thoughts:

this isn’t that significant, but there’s a little extra dialogue from ibara and manyuda during the first turn when manyuda asks yumeko if she feels guilty about ruining people’s lives when she wins:

“You nervous? Want me to hold your hand? Hmmm?” ibara’s such a big goofball (lol)

there’s some more pages that include sumeragi’s thoughts during the game about the gameplay, but it’s not that significant. it’s mostly her saying things that we the readers already know, or her explaining the gameplay that’s happening. so i’m not going to include it since it doesn’t really give any insight into her character (it’s not that deep, really) and this post is getting long AF.

after the first perfect round where everyone paid 5 coins in taxes, we get a very cute moment with ibara and manyuda in the manga that unfortunately didn’t make it into the anime (season 2 ep. 8, ch. 48):

i’m really liking ibara (lol).

that’s it, for everything that happened in the manga that didn’t happen in the anime. again, i excluded everything with rei, since she didn’t exist in the manga. i also excluded the scenes with sayaka that kinda build up to tower of doors (for example, season 2 ep. 8, at the very end where sayaka wants kirari to order her to get rid of terano) and the tower of doors arc itself (season 2 ep. 9-10), since it overlapped with season 1 stuff and i already covered that in my previous post. they didn’t change much in the tower of doors arc anyway (literally only the puzzles on the doors were a little different), it was very faithful to what happened in the manga (thank the lesbian godesses)

i encourage y’all to watch the anime if you’re curious about rei and how they integrated her into the story, as well as some extra scenes with kirari and sayaka (i mentioned one already, season 2 ep. 8 at the very end, there’s also two small scenes in episode 12 about rei) .

let me know if i missed anything, season 2 was difficult to do because it involved going back and forth through multiple chapters. if you’ve read all this, thanks for sticking with me til the end :)

#kakegurui #kakegurui xx #yumeko jabami #mary saotome #ririka momobami #kirari momobami #sayaka igarashi #kaede manyuda #sumeragi itsuki #anime vs manga

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karliesbuzzcut · 4 years

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When art really speaks to you, pt. 2: probably just a coincidence but idk

Disclaimer: all these theories are rabbit holes on their own, so trying to explain them in a couple of paragraphs is, automatically, doing them a disservice. Especially since I’m only going to be primarily addressing the part of the theory that focuses on the artist communicating with their public through their work.

Since I’ve already dedicated paragraphs to the introduction in part 1, let’s just jump into it.

Leonardo Da Vinci’s fuckton of theories.

Let’s start with the daddy of all conspiracies. After all, not many can gloat about their reachings becoming a movie starring Tom Hanks.

The thing with Da Vinci’s conspiracies is that there are so many of them, and they range from “maybe this is also a painting made by Da Vinci but he wasn’t credited because of reasons” to ALIENS. Which, I think, shows how different our interpretations of art can be, and how much it depends on an already established worldview.

But the most interesting part isn’t the conclusions, but how people look for clues. For example, just like people say Taylor Swift is obsessed with numbers or oranges (depending who you ask, I guess), Da Vinci was supposedly a big fan of reflections. So, if you want to decode his paintings you must mirror them... and then move then a little bit... there you go, you’ve just found yourself an alien...! Or a daemon...! Or someone wearing a funny hat! And that’s totally what he wanted us to find, right? Why else would he had shown any sort of interest in reflections if he didn’t want us to reflect everything!!

Shakespeare is an illusion... kinda, but yeah.

Personally, I think Kaylors would love to dig into this one. Sure, it doesn’t have many lesbians playing political spies. But it does involve a lot of literature analysis. Just like Kaylors don’t think a heterosexual woman could’ve written Taylor’s songs; some people (referred as anti-Stratfordians, thank you very much) don’t think someone from a lower class could’ve written Shakespeare’s plays.

Here’s the tea... the very cold tea: because Shakespeare was the son of a glover, anti-Stratfordians say he couldn’t have had the knowledge to write his plays. They, instead, come up with a list of “more suitable” writers that could’ve worked together. But they decided to keep their identities a secret because being a play writer, at that time, wasn’t respectable. Here, we will start noticing a trend with Conspiracy Theories: society, as a whole, can’t handle the truth, only a selected few. That’s where Francis Bacon comes in.

Francis Bacon was a very smart dude. He, also, worked for the state - giving him the credentials to be worthy of writing Shakespeare calibre plays. And also, also, he developed a method to conceal messages in the presentation of a text. To be able to do this, you would need to use two typefaces. Guess what has more than one typeface? Shakespeare’s plays.

I have to say - while I don’t believe either theory we have seen, they are somewhat understandable. We barely know anything about Shakespeare and Da Vinci beyond their work, so it’s normal that people are trying to figure out who they were; what did they believed in; where did they get all of their knowledge. We like theorising about the answers to these questions, knowing we’ll never get a confirmed truth. Not so the case with our next conspiracy...

Lewis Carroll was Jack the Ripper - someone had to be, right?

Now, allow me to fangirl all over this one. It combines my interests for conspiracy theories, true crime and pop-culture.

I’m assuming everyone here knows about Jack the Ripper: a serial killer who murdered at least 5 people (mainly prostitutes) in London, between the years 1888 and 1891. Well, someone looked at this and thought “you know what this murder-mystery is missing? Famous people”. Well, this theory says that the author of Alice in Wonderland did it He was the only celebrity living nearby at the time of the killings, so... 🤷‍♀️

This becomes a case of “I have already made up my mind about this issue, so I’m going to go ahead and search for proof that confirms it”. Authors and, now, internet sleuths went through his books, selected this random-ass excerpt from the nursery version of Alice and decided it was an anagram. And a crappy one at that. Supposedly, if you arrange the letters you get a detailed and gruesome confession. You, however, have to take away some letter and add others. Listen, I’m not an English major, but I’ve heard that’s cheating.

This theory also has that characteristic we mentioned: the “I don’t want to admit it out loud, so I’m going to come up with convoluted ways for my audience to figure it out” - which almost borders on psychotic behaviour. But at least it, somewhat, works with the serial killer narrative, you know? Not very much with Taylor, a woman who simply wants to chill with her girlfriend.

The moon landing was fake and directed by Stanley Kubrick.

I’m not going to dig into the moon landing conspiracy, this post is going to be long enough already. Just know that, when the USA government was planning to fake the whole thing, they had just watched ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ and they were all like “that’s so cool! That’s how we want our fake moon landing to look!” So they contacted its director, Kubrick.

According to the theory, Kubrick felt really guilty afterwards but he couldn’t say anything about it because he signed an NDA? it would be dangerous, I guess. So he did the same thing Taylor would do decades later: he “spelled it out” for us on his work, under the excuse of “I didn’t explicitly said it, did I? My most intelligent and attractive fans just happened to figure it out for themselves”.

The movie ‘The Shinning’ has been analysed to shreds. Think ‘Look What You Made Me Do’ music video, but 2 hours and 26 minutes instead. There are many theories about its underlying theme, but we’re only focusing on the moon landing one. The biggest piece of evidence, according to believers, comes from that famous scene in the hallway. Basically, the kid, Danny, is on the floor playing and wearing an Apollo 11 sweater. He stands up = the rocket launches. He walks to Room N.237. Which is almost an anagram for MOON - but actually, a perfect anagram for MORON - I didn’t come up with that joke, I’m just sharing it. Anyway. In the book, the room number is 217 but Kubrick changed it to 237 because there are 237,000 miles between the Earth and the Moon... except that’s not exactly true, but this is their Kissgate, you see?

“Paul is Dead” aka “the granddaddy of Kaylor is Real”

Now, this is THE conspiracy theory. Kaylors would love to have the amount of evidence this theory has. Give them 50 years, they’ll get there.

Our story starts in 1966, Paul McCartney dies in a car accident. The British Government panics, “this will drive our teenagers into a massive suicide!” So they cover it up. They find this guy who looks like Paul and hire him to replace the original.

You might’ve only heard about those stores where pop-stars get their beards. But there’s also a branch that focuses on celebrity look-a-likes.

The rest of The Beatles went along with it (because that’s how these artists seem to operate, they’re always the victims of their circumstances) but they did not like it. So - you guessed it - they used their music, artwork, photo-shoots, etc. to communicate the truth. Faux-Paul might’ve felt a bit awkward about it, but he’s a nice chap and let the other guys work through their grief.

Kaylors might have agreed on blue being the colour of breaks up and yellow is for Karlie-Sunshine; but the Paul-truthers concluded white is the colour of heaven, jeans are for gravediggers and black for morticians... oh! And not wearing shoes means you’re dead. Taylor being near a door symbolises her leaving the closet; Paul being near an open trunk symbolises him being in a coffin. Is the letter K, for Karlie, surrounding Taylor? Well, there’s a 28IF in the plaques of a car, for Paul being 28 IF he hadn’t died. People hear a phantasmagorical “she” in ‘Call It What You Want’; just like people heard “I buried Paul” in ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’.

If you have never looked up this theory, I seriously recommend it. There are so many parallels with Kaylor. Here’s a 30 minute video, if you’re interested. It summarises the theory neatly while discussing the effects that these, seemingly innocent, conspiracies have on the way we absorb information.

Paul might be dead but 2pac is very much alive.

If I haven’t made it clear by now, I think it’s very deceptive to use a musician’s lyrics to back up your alternate version of events. As confessional as these verses can be, they’re still a form of art. Which, in terms of music lyrics, they need to follow certain parameters, as well as a desired sound. And, as many other forms of art, they might focus a bit more on transmitting a feeling, rather than an accurate portrayal of reality.

Why am I stopping to say all of this now? Well, because this specific theory relies a lot on Tupac’s lyrics.

A bit of context: In 1996, Tupac Shakur was shot 4 times while at a stoplight. He died from his injuries days later. While there are theories, to this day, no one knows who killed him. Unless you believe one of those theories, which claims no one did.

The believers of this theory cite Tupac’s lyrics to argue that he was explicitly telling his fans that he was going to fake his own death. Here are two examples:

I’ve been shot and murdered, can’t tell you how it happened word for word but best believe that n*****’ gonna get what they deserve. - Richie Rich’s N***** Done Change

I heard rumours that I died murdered in cold blood, traumatised pictures of me in my final states — you know mama cried. But that was fiction, some coward got the story twisted - Aint’ Hard 2 Find

Just like anti-Kaylors don’t necessarily oppose the idea of Taylor being gay; I bet the “antis” of this theory aren’t happy Tupac died and weren’t against his existence on the first place. It’s more of an argument about confusing your feelings with facts, just because they can be more comforting or exciting.

“Avril Lavigne is dead”... or “every artist you think is alive is, actually, dead and, the ones you think are dead, aren’t” I guess.

After everything we have seen, this one isn’t that interesting. The real Avril died in 2003, right after her first album. Her record label bought a new one. Proof? She says ‘dead’ in ‘My Happy Ending’, blah, blah. A poor man’s “Paul is Dead”.

I added it, mainly for the lulz, after the last entry, I needed them. But also because it all started with a blog. What’s hilarious is that the guy who created it admitted he only did it to show how gullible people are but, at that point, he had already convinced people about. The conspirators didn’t need him anymore. So they discarded him but not the Theory... which just reminds me a little too much of how TCG, HBH, Jennyboom &co. have been excommunicated from the Church of Kaylor.

Beyonce and Jay Z are members of the sexy sexy Illuminati.

I did not save the best for last. But maybe I’m just biased because the Illuminati theory bores me to death. However, if you allow me a bit of social criticism... remember how the Shakespeare Conspiracy started because a bunch of classicist people didn’t believe a lower class citizen could write such good plays? I think this one has a bit of that. I’d bet my life that this one started when a bunch of white dudes got super uncomfortable by black people being so talented and earning their successful.

What this Conspiracy shows, too, is the amplifying effect the internet has had on the proliferation of such theories. Most of the conspiracies I’ve mentioned were huge... but how were you supposed to communicate your ideas and add to the old ones, before the internet? You could publish a book. Talk about it at parties. And, at some point, there were internet forums but, still, you can’t compare that to how widespread Social Media is nowadays.

Today, we can watch someone ramble for 2 hours on YouTube about how Beyonce looks like a robot if you watch Single Ladies in reverse; read someone’s dissertation of ‘Apeshit’; or spend all night looking at those pictures where someone has drawn a red circle around anything that resembles a triangle.

It might look like a lot of evidence but that’s only because there are a lot of people very attached to this theory. Wanting - for whatever reason - for it to be true (perhaps because it would confirm that their fears about the world were well founded). And all those dozens or hundredths of people were working together to form as many patterns as possible.

Unfortunately we are going to keep talking about the Illuminati in Part 3 but also about Taylor, so that should be nice. Because - to the surprise of absolutely no one - there’s a bunch of people who also think they understand Taylor better than the rest. That they have figured out her secret codes and her ultimate message. Only, not all of those theories involve lesbian supermodels, so they aren’t as popular on Tumblr.

#Kaylor #conspiracy theory

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kyu-bri · 4 years

Text

Magia Rapport pt 5

@magiarapport

August 27th prompt: What character do you identify with the most? Why is that? Do you have a favorite quote or moment from them?

WOOOOOOOOObuoy gonna Expose myself here. Gonna just reveal Way Too Much about my personality. Prepare for Maximum Cringe.

We’re gonna exclude Kyoko, the angry lesbian disenfranchised christian, and just use MagiReco characters.

Tsuruno Yui & Alina Gray.

(Artz under the cut)

Tsuruno is literally someone who comes out of left field. I have to imagine this is even stronger for the JP audience because they probably already know that Yachiyo, Iroha and Tsuruno are voiced by a real-life Idol Trio. So they were probably just waiting for the third member to enter the story. Then she does so by just, running up to our main character and offering her help and then sprinting off to help achieve such. Tsuruno puts her Character Quirk of being Alot right on out there and we just roll with it. Sometimes with dread. I thought she was boring initially. (A anime character whose a brunette???? What A Waste)

While I was watching PMMM for the first time I immediately caught on to what was happening with Kyoko. This cute hardass bitchbaby shows up and is mean to the protags and kicks their asses. Also she’s constantly eating and it’s obnoxious. But even if she was a villain that couldn’t be all there was to her. So I was just waiting for the plot twist that would force the audience to love her. And BOY did we GET THAT in S P A D E S.

I didn’t anticipate it with Tsuruno. Even when she was taken by the Uwasa I didn’t know what to expect or what the Deeper Thing could possibly be. And it wasn’t too earthshattering- Local girl whose always happy and enthusiastic and helping her friends with every littlest thing but never asking for anything in return is secretly miserable isolated and Exhausted. And, fuck, Same Hat Babygirl

I have a long history of being The Mom Friend. A concrete unmoving constant in groups that people come to for help and is always first to problem solve and help others to compromise. Usually ending up being the head of projects in which its my own enthusiasm and micromanagement that carries the whole thing. Let me tell you it’s a awful role to be in by yourself every time. And entrusting other people to help out has sometimes even brought catastrophe.

Not dissimilar to Tsuruno’s personal story. Her ‘tragic backstory’ hit me like a truck. I already liked her family dynamic that she’s the cheerful daughter helping her father and grandfathers ailing business. To find out that the wish she made that by all logic Couldn’t Possibly Go Wrong, did infact, Go Wrong In One Of The Most Horrible Ways Possible, and that she had now resigned herself that the only thing she’s worthy of is achieving some impossible perfection to try and make up for it.

Same Hat Again Babygirl.

Then we have with Alina “Jojo Pose” Serket

It might just be my many experiences with media and anime especially that made me completely unphased by Alina’s Murder Horny bullshittery, but I never understood why people thought that was startling of her. Maybe it’s because she’s the only one of the brand in MagiReco? Just that it’s whats funnest about her? Is it because she’s otherwise a cutesy anime girl who you wouldn’t normally expect outside of yandere anime? Idk but she’s relatively mild in her Crazy in my opinion.

She genuinely could just be a shallow Yandere Joke and I’d still think she’s entertaining. But then she gets, like, one of the more complex backstories out of the girls that isn’t explored in an Event. We see her Fall and Rise in her MSS and oh, she’s not crazy. She’s fucking Relatable and gets Super Powers.

There’s been jokes about College Kids perfectly understanding Alina but goddamn if she isn’t just a runofamill Gifted Child who grows up into a stressed out passionless teen. The bulk of why I feel for her is probably in relating to her art insecurity. She’s truly talented and passionate until a faceless peer shoots her down from her already terrible mental state with “Your work is meaningless, so you should just stop altogether.”

Alina clearly enjoys her art- or at least misses being able to. And as she has grown has lost the enthusiasm that used to drive her to make her best work, or else been pressured to recreate it when she doesn’t have that enthusiasm. It’s being paid to do what you love but not resonating with what you’re asked of. It’s the reality faced by every artist who everyone tells should make money off their talent, because if they can’t make money off of it, why are they wasting time on it?

Alina is a little girl. Fuck you. She is sixteen and she’s under so much pressure to achieve this expectation everyone has for her but that she couldn’t give two shits about. And she has no support through this or adults who care about her outside of it. She has Karin who while she cares more about Alina as a person is still probably doing more harm then good in idolizing her over this talent that everyone else is ruining her over.

I think Alina sticks with Karin and at least mildly cares about her back because she sees who Karin is, with much less talent but so much more joy in what she does, and wishes she could be like that again. Wishes she could be like that from the start. To have less talent so she could enjoy it more. I wish I could be more carefree and optimistic like Karin too, but I’m more nihilistic and angry at the world like Alina is instead.

Almost nothing Alina’s done since she contracted has been good, but I don’t blame her for any of it either. Society failed her like it does plenty of gifted children, she just got the superpowers and the bitterness that made her fight back in an awful way.

Amnesia is the best thing that could have happened to her, and 95% of me keeping up with the story in Arc 2 is going to be wanting to see if she’ll turn out okay.

Also shout-out to Yachiyo who isn’t a millennial but definitely resonates as one.

#magia rapport #magia record #pmmm

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sleepypeaky · 4 years

Text

{getaway} final, pt.4

Reader is the Blinder’s chauffeur….naturally that entails getaway driving too

Part 4/4 ———-part 1, part 2 , part 3

also this was unintentional but the reader is gender neutral

WC: 1458

Warnings: Shooting, blood, dramaaa

A/n: set just after season 5, like the day after the last episode.

and no this isnt historically accurate obvs but i had to do it to write the fucking thing

tnis is so fun to write so try and stop me. this is kind of a Finn x reader?? idk?? finn is my wife?? but he also smol gay boi?? im confused.

“Where’s Finn!?!” Ada yelled as she kicked open the door to Tommy’s study.

Tommy was at his desk with his head down. Arthur ventured to answer,

“We haven’t seen him since the speech. Johnny Dogs said (y/n) went to look for him.”

“Arthur that was 12 hours ago! They could be hurt!”

RING

Tommy raised his head and grabbed the phone.

“What?”

He eyes widened.

He slammed the phone back down on the receiver, and scrambled to his feet.

“Mosley’s been shot.”

They stared at each other.

Ada gasped.

“Oh my god.”

They all ran out the door.

“NO NO NO NO FUCK! FUCK!” You screamed into the steering wheel.

To say that you were speeding was an understatement, you were going so fast that you weren’t sure the car could handle it.

And at the same time, to make things even more dangerous, you were flicking your gaze to Finn’s marbled complection.

“Finn Finn come on come onnnn!” You slapped his face lightly, trying to wake him up.

He made a breathy groan, you weren’t sure if it was voluntary, but at least he was alive.

You cursed yourself,

“FUCK (y/n)!! WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING!” You yanked the wheel to the right and were thrown along with it as the car screeched into the direction you gave it.

You were almost at the hospital. It wasn’t smart considering what had just happened, but by the amount of blood you figured it was either this or him dying, and you were not taking that chance.

And this was far enough away that maybe it would just be passed off as a casualty of one of the many daily gang shootings.

You tore into the hospital driveway and slammed on the brakes, the tires were so shot from the drive that you skidded about 3 feet.

Throwing open the door and screaming for help, you sprinted around the car and flung open the passenger side door, grabbing finn’s face in you hands and trying to call him out of the depths of his mind.

“Finn finn wake up please please.” You cried.

His head lolled in your hands, but his eyelids fluttered, you whimpered with relief.

Two men with a stretcher came up behind you.

You let them to him and watched as they ran him inside.

Your legs, as heavy as led, followed suit.

_______________

Ada sat frozen in the passenger seat of the car. A million thoughts going through her head.

She had her eyes pressed shut, hoping to anyone that would listen that her suspicions weren’t true.

Tommy’s hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard they resembled a skeleton’s. His face was in its usual stone mask, but his eyes were wind and active, no doubt thinking the same thoughts as Ava.

Arthur was silent in the backseat.

They pulled up to the scene and halted the car. Police were everywhere. The rain obscured the scene and oddly made it seem less intense than it was.

Two black tarps lay out on the ground.

Tommy sped over to them and in one swift motion, looked under each. The officers on the scene had recognized him and were awaiting his arrival, so they let this trespassing happen.

Though he let none of this show on his face, Tommy stood up and was relieved, both in seeing Mosley with half a skull, and seeing that the other body wasn’t Finn.

Maybe he wasn’t involved after all.

Nevertheless, before he went to speak to the press and police, he nodded to Ada: the signal to check the hospitals just in case.

_________

“I’m sorry you can’t come in here.”

A nurse grabbed your arm.

You looked at her in a daze,

“but..but...”

She looked apologetic and led you to a chair.

You looked down at yourself: your left shirt sleeve was drenched up to the elbow in blood from holding onto him during the car ride. As well as many other spaces on your clothes. And no doubt the car seat was completely ruined.

But all that was moot.

Because you gave into Finn he was fucking bleeding out in the other room. Why didn’t you just fucking say no? No Finn, we are not going to assassinate a parliament member. No Finn, i won’t drive you. Maybe you thought that you being there would somehow protect him? Doesn’t matter.

You leaned your head back against the wall and closed your eyes.

You sat like that for who-knows-how long when you heard your name called.

“(y/n)!?”

You stumbled to you feet, looking around for the nurse who called your name. Instead, you locked eyes with Ada.

A sob escaped your mouth as she ran towards you.

“Jesus fuck (y/n)! What happened?!” She held you.

You lowered you voice,

“I don’t know why i didn’t stop him. I could have but didn’t.”

She inhaled and nodded softly,

“It was you then.” She whispered.

You nodded,

“So fucking stupid–”

“At least you were fuckin’ there! If you weren’t there he would be under that black tarp with the faschist.” She harsh-whispered.

I made you feel a tad better, but still.

_____

Polly walked to the ringing phone with a usual speed.

“Hello?”

“Pol, it’s Ada.”

She tilted her head,

“What happened.”

Ada sighed over the phone,

“Finn is in the hospital, i’ll explain when you get here.”

“Jesus– not again. I’ll be right there.”

She shook her head and went to the door.

_______

“HE DID WHAT?!”

“Shhhh! Pol!”

Polly looked around to see if she was the only sane person in the room. Surely it wasn’t out of line to react like this.

She looked over at where you were sitting, still covered in blood and leaning on your hand.

“This family needs to calm the fuck down.”

“Not likely, pol.”

_____

The appearance of feet in your sightline brought you back to reality.

You looked up.

“He’s resting now, he’ll be ok.”

You stood up, shaky.

You gestured to Polly and Ada.

“Can we see him?”

The nurse nodded and led you to his room.

_____

6 hours later

The first thing that moved were his fingers, they looked as if he were playing an invisible piano on the white sheets.

Finn opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings. White walls, his feet, you passed out in a chair.

He smirked,

“Oi.” He croaked.

He watched your eyelids snap open confusingly, then they made contact with his.

“Tired?” he jested.

You glared,

“You’re a bastard Finn Shelby. A right bastard.”

You stood up and looked down over his bed, you flicked his nose.

“Ow wha’ the fuck!?”

“That,” you slipped, “Was for draggin me into this mess and then making me save your ass.”

“yeah thats fair.”

You sat down again, but pushed the chair closer. You took one of his hands.

“I don’t want to be covered in your blood again.”

He grunted,

“Can’t guarantee anything.”

You smiled at his humor, but you felt sad inside.

“I can’t lose any more of you.”

He understood what you meant. John and you had been close, you were like an extra sibling.

Finn turned his hand so that your’s fell in place. He squeezed.

“I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

You smiled again and lay you head down on the bed beside his shoulder.

It was here that Finn felt good, where he could embrace the quiet sensuality of plain love. Not forced, or made to behave differently, he could be himself.

He leaned his head atop yours.

________

1 Day later

“and in conclusion, you are never, to ever, do anything like that ever again. Not, that there will be an occasion to do so.”

Tommy finished his drastically long scolding of Finn.

“And (y/n), i want to be mad, but essentially the same goes to you as well. But you were doing your job, and i’m glad Finn wasn’t alone. At least there was one working brain in the plan.”

You blinked,

“I still have a job?”

Tommy chuckled,

“What, you thought this would change that? I did tell you there would be excitement didn’t i?”

“Yeah, my body feels real excited.” Finn groaned from the bed, rubbing the bandages that were wrapped around his midsection.

“Yeah but thats what you get.” You said.

He frowned.

_____

1930

The car rumbled beneath you, and with the windows down, your hair cooled in the breeze.

You looked into your mirrors, he was gaining on you.

“Fool.” You muttered.

Your foot lowered further on the gas.

The finish line was in sight,

Whoosh.

Again, not a surprising victory.

You eased off the gas and began the process of stopping the car.

The screech of brakes continued until you exited the car.

You threw up your hands,

“Really?! I thought i taught you better than that Shelby!”

Finn flipped you off and hopped out of his car.

“Well i’m not insane, like someone know.”

you punched his arm.

“Bastard.”

“Lunatic.”

You looked up at him and grinned.

He did the same.

He leaned down and kissed you, you returning it naturally.

You smiled into the kiss, before reaching up and grabbing his hat.

You broke off and frisbeed his hat into the grass.

“Race you!” You squealed as you ran to your car.

Finn stood in confusion at how quick that progressed.

You got back in the car, and started the engine.

_____________

The End

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic #finn shelby #finn shelby imagine #blinder!reader #i liked this so much

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years

Text

No Surrender Pt. 5

Request: hey i love your writing!! i was wondering if you could write something where the ready and bucky are in the same hydra facility and try to escape together. idk maybe that’s bad but i love your writing!!

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: In the winter of 1945 Hydra captures Sargent James Barnes. After months spent unconscious, he wakes up in a cell with you and a new addition on his left side. Quickly it becomes clear that being locked up together may be the best bout of luck either of you has had in a while… Maybe together the two of you have a chance of making it out of this hell alive. Now, 69 years later the two of you are brought back together, scars and all. War changes everyone it touches but maybe, together, you can both find some kind of peace.

Warnings: Just fluff and feels.

A/N: Well. This is the end of the line (couldn’t help myself). Thank you all for being patient with this one as it’s taken me a hot minute to circle back and wrap it up. I hope you enjoy the end of this story!

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @buckysstar @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2 @krugeforeveryone @jewelofwinter @get-loki @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @wildmoonflower @cutie1365

Two days later Bucky is about ready to scream.

It’s been nothing but an endless sea of paperwork and protocol—getting reestablished as, well a person—setting things up with the V.A., finances, procuring necessities like clothes and a cell phone. He was exhausted.

Steve was off helping Hill and Stark with something to do with their new plan they were calling ‘The Avengers,’ leaving Bucky blissfully alone.

The bliss was short-lived at best.

Alone, it was hard to shift his focus from the shadows flitting around in his mind, almost impossible to calm down his instinct to be prepared to fight at any moment.

He finds himself wondering about you, how you’re doing, what your day to day was like, and wanting to just hear your voice. After staring at his phone and pacing for almost an hour he finally gets the gumption to call you.

It feels like the phone was ringing forever, certainly long enough for him to doubt his decision. Hell, you were likely helping Steve and the rest right now. He felt silly and more than a little useless until-

“Oui?” Your voice is cold, tentative. Of course, he’d forgotten to send you his number.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s-”

“Bucky! Is this your number now?”

He lets out a little awkward laugh, “Yeah, as of yesterday. I’m a fully functional modern American.” Functional, could he tell a bigger lie.

“Excellent. How are you?”

“Well… I’ve got some time and was wondering if that invitation was still open?” Silence hangs a little longer than he expected.

“Of course. Come on over.”

“If you’ve got other plans… I don’t wanna intrude.”

“You’re not intruding. I… Please, I’d like for you to come.” Something in your voice makes concern rise in his chest. “Do you need a ride or anything?”

“Nah, I’ve got Steve’s bike. Fifteen minutes ok?”

“Perfect.” Was that relief he heard? “I’ll see you then.”

It’s just before noon as the bike thunders onto your quiet street. Just like a few nights ago he feels like a nervous kid at the thought of seeing you. Add that to his concern he can’t shake that he’s imposing on your life—he’s a wreck. Doubt, anxiety, and a million other emotions swirl in his mind as he knocks.

They all flee when he sees you though.

He had been so used to you being a vision of poise in your well-tailored creams and whites, your vibrant lipstick, hair always exactly where you wanted it… Right now though, you remind him more of the woman he first met. Beautiful still but haunted and hurting.

The circles under your eyes are dark, lips a little too dull. Your hands tremble a touch as you gather your cardigan tight around your frame, the oversized garment covering your teeshirt and leggings.

You offer him a half-smile, “Come in.” As he follows you up the stairs the scents of coffee and cigarettes hit his nose.

“I just made a fresh pot of coffee if you’d like some,” you say once in the kitchen. Before he can respond you turn to the cabinet, taking a mug down with a shaking hand.

“Y/N?” He asks, coming up behind you, plucking the mug from your grasp and taking your hand in his. “What’s wrong?” You say nothing, your eyes cast down at the floor.

He shouldn’t be here, he knew it was a bad idea. He releases your hand, “I can go. I didn’t mean to-”

“Please don’t,” frantic, red-rimmed, eyes shoot to up, your hand suddenly grasping his tight. You look surprised by your own reaction.

He remains frozen, unsure of what to do. Well, not entirely. What he wants is to gather you in his arms, wants to breathe in the smell of your hair, kiss you until you smile… None of those things are right, he knows this, but desire doesn’t always listen to the rules. Sternly he reminds himself who you are--decidedly not his--and who he is--someone undeserving of a dame like you.

Your tongue flits out, moistening your dry lips as you hold his gaze. “I just…” You take a tentative half step forward, closing the small space between the two of you and rest your forehead against his chest, breathing deeply.

Bucky’s heart thunders, so hard he knows you must feel it. When your hand releases his he expects you to pull away but instead your arms wrap around his torso, holding on as if you’re scared he’ll run.

It takes him longer than it should to get his arms to curl around you. He’d embraced Steve and even you briefly since being back but here, alone, this is different. It had been… shit decades since he’d held anyone or been held like this. An ache he’d been forcing down begins to rise to the surface at an alarming pace.

You turn your face to press your cheek against his pounding heart. “I don’t… I don’t want to be alone…” Your breath hitches and he holds you tighter.

“Ok… Ok,” he breathes into your hair stroking your back. The two of you stand for a bit, holding on with all your might.

“I’m sorry,” you release him, wiping a few stray tears from your eyes.

“For what?” He couldn’t fathom something you’d need to apologize for.

Turning to the coffee pot you gesture to your self, “For me. I’m… I’m just tired…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” without thinking he cups your face with his metal hand, turning you back to him. A tear sneaks from the corner of your eye, instinctively he dashes it away with his thumb. “Here,” he takes the mug you had as well as one that must be yours as it still has a bit of coffee in it, “let me.”

“Black?” He asks as he pours, noting the lack of sugar or cream near the pot.

“Oui.”

There are papers strewn on the little breakfast nook table so he heads that direction, both mugs in hand. You sit heavily in one of the chairs, wrapping your hands around the warmth of the mug, breathing deep. He takes the spot opposite from you.

Bucky sips the coffee, it’s damn good and the silence that hangs between you two isn’t uncomfortable.

With your eyes glued on the steam rising from between your hands, he lets the details of you sink in. Silver strands wink in your hair making it seem to sparkle in the sunlight--beautiful despite its disheveled state, the lines on your face are so fine as to almost be imperceptible, freckles lightly dust your nose and cheeks, cheeks that are slightly sallow as though you haven’t been eating enough. A muscle ticks ever so slightly near your right eye, and there’s a nicotine stain on your right index and middle finger.

Your eyes rise to meet his. While your body may not show the decades of your life he can see them clearly there. He can’t help but wonder if he and Steve had, in some sick way, been luckier…

“Do you wanna talk about it?” His voice is soft. The corner of your mouth ticks up a bit but you shake you head no.

“You have your own ghosts to deal with, you don’t need to trouble yourself with mine.” Tentatively you take his hand in your own. “You being here is enough.”

Admittedly, he’s somewhat confused as to how his presence could bring anyone comfort. Hell, he could hardly be alone with himself comfortably… Still, it does feel good to know he can do this for you.

“You won’t be burdening me, Y/N. After everything, you’ve done for me… Let’s just say I have space for your ghosts too.”

Swallowing hard you take a shaky breath, averting your gaze back to your coffee. Bucky worries that he’s said the wrong thing, somehow made this worse, until after a moment you speak.

“I… I went to see Peg the morning after the party. It…” He notices your accent is more pronounced as your emotions surface. “It was not a good day for her.” Your eyes squeeze shut, “She didn’t know me.”

For a moment you just breathe, holding his hand in a death grip. “She’s the last… the last person who truly knows me knows because she lived through it all with me and… when she’s gone… I feel like a part of me will die too.”

It occurs to him at that moment, Steve must have felt something like this when Bucky didn’t know him. The thought makes something ache deep within him. Some day he’ll find a way to make that up to Steve.

You shake your head, “I’ve stared in death’s face so many times and not been afraid… but this… I’m terrified.”

Gently, he takes your other hand in his. “I know it’s not the same as living through it but… I’d-” He struggles to find the words suddenly. “Well, I’d be honored to know you, to truly know you, Y/N.”

Your eyes hold his once more, he swears there’s a little more light there than before.

The rest of the day is the best day Bucky can remember from the last 70 years. There’s no hurry, no stress, just you.

You talk about your life before the war. Growing up in Lyon with your older sister and twin brother. Days spent running through Renaissance era streets, Roman ruins, and more modern fare.

Summers spent with your mother’s parents in the Auvergne countryside. It was so similar and yet so different from his own childhood in Brooklyn. He loved watching you light up as you remember little details, things you hadn’t thought of in so long.

Every time a record ends there’s another ready to go. Leisurely, the two of you munch on cold chicken, bread, cheese, and fruit for lunch while Bucky reaches back into his fractured mind for memories of his own childhood.

He’s surprised to find that even without Steve to back him up, how talking helps him grasp things, make sense of the chaos. It’s nice even if it aches a bit to remember them, his Ma and Pa and sisters.

As the sun begins to set you both settle on the patio, whiskey and cigarettes in hand.

“You know,” you sigh out a cloud of smoke as you stare at the sunset, “I still haven’t ridden a rollercoaster.” Your head rolls, resting on the back of your deck chair, to look at him, a small smirk on your lips.

“What?!”

Your laugh rings in the quiet evening. “Surprisingly, there haven’t been many opportunities. And…” You pause as though you’re unsure of your next words, stamping out your cigarette to stall. “And, I was waiting for you.”

For a few moments, you hold one another’s gaze, unmoving, hardly breathing.

“Well,” he clears his throat breaking the connection. “I guess that’s one thing we can still do. I think the rest of my promises are a little too late to keep.”

“How so?”

“I’m sure you’ve had pizza, Brooklyn doesn’t have a baseball team anymore, and I’m pretty sure all the dance joints I knew about closed a long time ago.”

“We don’t need a joint to go dancing you know.” There’s a spark in your eye as you pick up your phone, music beginning to play from unseen speakers a moment later.

Bucky feels his mouth go dry. You hop from your chair and stand in front of him, hand extended, eyes wide and expectant.

“Dance with me.”

“I…” he averts his gaze heart suddenly racing faster than the swinging beat of the song. “I don’t know if I remember how.”

“Only one way to find out.” He glances up at you, unsure. “Haven’t you kept me waiting long enough Sergeant Barnes?”

He can’t help but smile at the playful grin lifting your lips. It had been long enough.

Taking your hand he rises. This was a fast song, he knows there’re steps involved but he can’t quite remember them. His brows knit, body frozen trying to find this buried knowledge.

“Hey,” he glances down at you. Your face a mask of understanding, “Stop thinking so much, just listen.”

Closing his eyes he focuses on nothing but the music, its fast beat, energetic dips and sways, and the feeling of your hand in his. In an instant his mind is filled with smoky clubs, the sensation of sweat dripping down his back, laughter, salt on his tongue, whiskey burning in his throat--and the dance.

It takes a couple of songs to fall into it but on the third you’re both in sync, moving to the music, dancing the Lindy, smiles huge. As the music wraps up he spins you out and rapidly back into him, pressing you close to his body.

Your head falls back and you laugh breathlessly. “And you were worried,” you tease.

“Doll, I’m just gettin’ warmed up.”

“I bet.” Suddenly your lips are on his.

Of their own volition, his hands rise to cup your face just before it registers that he cannot do this. You’re DumDum’s wife, or… widow rather but still… You’re also a good person, someone who’s spent the last seven decades fighting for the right side whereas he-

Instead of holding you closer his hands gently push you away as he steps back. He tries to ignore the surprise and hurt in your eyes, tries to deny the fluttering in his gut.

“I’m sorry I-”

“No,” he cuts you off. “I… I just… I should go.” He takes a few more steps back. “It’s… I told Steve we could do dinner and,” his words are tripping over themselves almost as fast as his heart’s beating. “Yeah, I just have to go.” He doesn’t look at you as he goes through the open patio door, can’t look at you because he’ll loose his shaky conviction.

“Bucky,” you lay a had on his shoulder as he reaches his jacket. It’s gentle but he flinches nonetheless.

“Thank you for today, it really was wonderful.” He doesn’t look back as he bolts from the warmth of your home.

Steve doesn’t ask any questions when he storms into the condo without a word, neither does he say anything for the next few days regarding Bucky’s near-total silence. He gives him space, without leaving him alone entirely. It’s a tactic Bucky remembers using with Steve back when they shared a shitty apartment and Steve was often in a mood. He appreciates it.

After waking up in a cold sweat the fourth night since his afternoon with you he paces his room for hours, feeling like a caged animal. He can’t tell if he wants to scream or cry or punch something. All he knows is that it feels like there’s a swarm of hornets in his skull and he’d give anything to make it stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him but he suddenly goes to the desk where he’d laid the beautiful journal you’d gifted him. With a shaking hand, he touches the letters on the front—reminding himself that those are his initials, his name. Opening the journal for the first time he pauses. A letter addressed to him in your delicate script lays against the first page.

Swallowing the guilt bubbling up he opens the unsealed envelope:

Bucky,

I want this to be a place just for you so leaving an inscription seemed wrong. In my years I’ve found that, even when it hurts, putting pen to paper to account for both my sins and triumphs reminds me of who I am—who I’ve been. Use this book as confessional or time capsule (or not at all), whatever soothes you. On these pages, as with those who love you, there is no judgement—only freedom. Thank you for everything you have done for me. I hope that in time I can repay you the debt I owe.

Always,

Y/N

His eyes burn with tears. How could you think, truly think, you owed him a debt. You who’s presence drove him, helped him survive the hell he found himself in. You who never stopped looking for him. You…

With your petal soft lips, smoky voice, and gentle touch. Who was one hell of a dancer, soldier, and spy. You… who he undeniably wanted with every fiber of his being and could not allow himself to have.

Wiping away tears he refuses to let fall he fishes a few paperclips out of the office supply organizer on the desk. Carefully he aligns your letter on the first page, clipping it in place. Despite your reservations about leaving an inscription, he wanted your words here.

Initially when he thought of writing in this journal he thought he’d only put down good things, because you were one of those good things. However, as the pen hits the first page what pours from him isn’t good.

He writes until the sun brightens his window. Pages upon pages filled with horrific things… things he’d done or had been done to him. A few times he had to stop, stomach-churning from the memories. But now, as dawn chased away the shadows in his room, he felt lighter somehow.

Taking one last look at your letter he presses his lips to his fingertips and then your swirling signature before closing the journal.

Moving quietly he heads to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. The routine is soothing, clearing the remaining shadows inside of him.

When Steve gets up a little over an hour later he looks surprised to see Bucky in the living room reading a book.

“Morning,” Bucky says as Steve cocks an eyebrow.

“Morning.” He pours a cup and heads to the living room.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence Steve speaks, “You ok?”

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately. He doesn’t want to lie to Steve but his gut reaction is to play tough for him, to make everything seem better than it was. That wasn’t good for anyone though.

“A little better.” He takes a deep drink to give himself a moment more. “Not ok… but-” He shrugs, unable to find the words.

“That’s just fine, pal.” Steve takes a deep breath. “I think I’m going over to see Peggy. She’s had a good morning so far. Wanna come?”

“Are you sure?” He did want to see her. But… you may be there and he wasn’t sure how to apologize for being such an ass just yet.

“Yeah. I think…” A shadow crosses Steve’s features for an instant. “I think it would be good for her to know that you’re a secret she doesn’t have to keep anymore.”

Bucky nodded. If he could take that off of her, of both of them, he would.

A million times on the drive over he thinks to ask Steve if you’ll be there. He just can’t quite find a way to word it that doesn’t sound ridiculous or like he doesn’t want to see you—which he does, desperately.

As they pull up he swallows the question and steels his nerves. If you were here so be it. He’d deal with his jackassery like a man.

Steve doesn’t knock, just opens the door and leads them into a townhome similar to yours.

They head up to the main level. Things were slightly less open than your place, it hadn’t been updated for a decade or so. There were more personal touches in this space, however. He notes family photos on the walls, some framed children’s drawings, and pauses--it hadn’t occurred to him that Peggy had kids, a husband, a family.

“You comin’?” Steve goads at the base of another staircase. Bucky nods following him up.

A nurse reclines on the sofa in the small open sitting area at the top of the stairs. She smiles upon seeing Steve.

“Captain Rodgers,” her eyes widen a bit when they notice Bucky but she says nothing. “Miss Y/N is in there, she’s still having an excellent day.”

“Thanks, Amanda.”

The men head down the hall and your laugh rings out of an open door making Bucky’s heart lodge in his throat.

“I’ll be right back Peg.” You head out of the room to meet them looking polished and vibrant, so different from when he left you.

Bucky expects scorn but you, of course, offer him nothing but a gentle smile.

“I’m so glad you could come.” Your voice drops, “Steve, you and I should tell her we have a surprise and then you can come in Bucky.”

“Sounds good,” Steve smiles at him. All Bucky can do is nod before the two of them head back into the room.

He’s not sure he’s ready for this. In his mind Peggy is young, vibrant, overflowing with moxie… But as soon as Steve’s golden head swings out of the door waving for Bucky to come in he knows he has to find a way to handle it. For them. For all of them. With a deep breath, he wills one foot in front of the other.

“What on earth are you two up-” Peggy says as Bucky enters the room. She stops, a shaky hand catching the gasp falling from her lips.

She looks smaller, her hair white, but her eyes glint with a fire that is still distinctly Peggy Carter. Bucky can’t help but smile.

“James,” she was the only one who called him by his first name. “It… is it really…”

“Hey Peggy,” he says softly, reaching his right hand out to take her fragile extended one. He keeps his left hand tucked firmly in his pocket.

Her gaze shoots to Steve and then to you, “You did it.”

You shake your head, “Not exactly. But, he’s home.” Bucky feels your gaze on him but is unable to meet your eyes.

“We’ll give you two a minute,” Steve says leading you from the room.

For a moment Bucky stands awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

“You look awkward with your hand shoved in your pocket like that, James.” His cheeks burn a bit. She laughs, eyes sparkling. “Come sit,” she gestures to the chair by her bed.

Slowly he takes his hand out and does as she requests. She reaches for it and he obliges. Tenderly Peggy studies it, running her frail fingers over the joints.

“Y/N told us what they did,” she gives his hand a squeeze with more strength than he expected. “I’m so sorry we never-”

“Don’t.” Peggy looks at him, a tear threatening to fall. “Y/N said the same thing. Knowing you all looked, that you tried, that’s enough Peggy. You did all you could.”

“Did we?” She looks into the middle distance for a moment, seeming to struggle with something. “Regardless, here you are and I get to finally thank you.”

“For what?”

“Because of you, I met, Y/N. Without her, I don’t know where I’d be but I doubt it would be anyplace good. She’d disagree, of course, but she has kept me going many times.”

Bucky can’t help but smile, “She has that effect doesn’t she?”

“Indomitable, that’s how Howard described her. Never to her face, of course,” she laughs a little. “He’d be damned if he ever got caught saying something ni-” Bucky takes a ragged breath and Peggy stops.

Stark had been in his dream the night before… What he’d done.

“Look at me,” Peggy says, voice stern. He does. “What happened was not your fault. Do you understand me?”

Bucky blinks in shock, “You… you know?”

She nods, “So does she, Steve too I would think.” He must look as terrified as he feels because Peggy grabs his hands in hers.

“We tracked you. From the moment there were whispers of a man with a metal arm… but we were always three steps behind. There were times she was close to finding you…” Peggy pauses, gathering herself.

“If you’re scared that she doesn’t know, hasn’t known all along, the things that…” He nods not wanting her to continue. “Well, don’t be.

“We’ve all done things, James. Terrible things that haunt us, things we’ll take to the grave.” She tucks a strand of his hair back in place. “But we did them of our own volition. In a way, your hands are cleaner than any of ours.” He snorts an empty laugh, unbelieving.

“You know,” her tone was lighter as she takes him in, “you were always the one that got away for her.”

“What d’you mean?”

A smile fills Peggy’s face. “She loved Dugan, truly, but you were always the ‘what if’ that never got to be. Just as Steve…” her voice cracks a touch. Bucky squeezes her hand. “A lot of us had those what-ifs back then. You move forward and build your life, a good life, with what is there but it doesn’t mean you stop wondering… stop wanting.”

“I… She deserves more than me, Peggy.” Bucky’s head spins a bit. How could she know?

“Shush. Both of you have a second chance, something so many of us would have given anything for, don’t you dare waste it because you’re afraid.”

He manages a nod, barely able to keep the tears at bay.

The two of them talk for a bit. He tells her how he met her niece, how much she helped, and Peggy gushes about how proud she is of her. She tells him about her family, how it had been to see Steve again. It feels like only a few seconds before there’s a gentle knock at the door.

“Mind if I pop in?” Steve asks, beaming at the two of them.

“Of course not,” Bucky stands, giving Peggy’s hand a gentle pat. “You two chat.” Her frail hand wraps around his before he can step away.

“Don’t forget what I said, James.” That fire burns in her gaze and he nods, knowing better than to ever argue with Peggy Carter when she has that look.

The nurse isn’t in the seating area but he can hear someone downstairs. Through the sliding glass door, he sees you leaning on the balcony railing. Before you can notice him he positions himself in such a way that he can still take you in without being seen.

You have one arm across your chest, the other leisurely brings your lit cigarette to your lips. After a deep inhale you puff a perfect ring into the air, grinning with self-satisfaction. Bucky can’t help but smile too—he’s not sure he’s ever seen you quite like this, so relaxed.

Howard had been right when he’d called you indomitable.

Despite the way his breath catches in his throat he moves into your line of sight. Despite the riot of his heart against his ribs, he opens the door. Finally, despite the weight of self-loathing resting on his soul, despite his past, despite everything… he cups your face in his hands without a word and kisses you deeply.

Immediately, you melt into him. If he’s being honest with himself he expected you to pull away, push him off, reject him—but no.

Every nerve ending sings. His fingers tangle in your hair. Your tongue flits out teasing him. The world falls away until two soft laughs from inside make you both freeze.

“I do love it when people listen to me without argument,” Peggy says with a laugh.

Bucky looks at you, cheeks almost as red as your lips but your smile is so bright he knows you’re not the least bit ashamed.

“Though I didn’t expect you to take my advice so soon, James.” Bucky turns, grasping your hand in his, to face Peggy and Steve.

“Wasted enough time,” he says smiling down at you.

“I should have known you’d stick your nose into this, Peg,” your tone one of false annoyance.

Peggy laughs as Steve pushes her onto the balcony. “That’s what you get for having spies for friends, my darling.”

The four of you spend the better part of the next two hours in easy conversation as music plays from the small speakers in your cell phone. Mainly the guys listen to you two tell stories of your time in the field together, memories of your mutual friends, putting pins in some of the time he and Steve missed.

Peggy bobs her head along to a song that’s just kicked up. “It’s too bad we couldn’t all have gone dancing together. We’d have turned heads.” Steve gives her a sad smile as she looks at you.

“Well,” Bucky says with a twinge of mischief, “someone told me the other day that you don’t need a joint to go dancing. I bet we could figure something out.” He tugs you out of your chair, “Come on.”

“What’re you up to?” You say with a laugh.

“You’ll see. We’ll come get you two in a minute.”

Without further explanation, you follow him downstairs. When he and Steve had gotten in earlier he saw a sitting room on the second floor with a record player. It would be perfect.

“Help me push this furniture out of the way will ya doll?” Turning to you he flashes a bright smile. Your eyes glitter as you nod.

It doesn’t even take ten minutes to get the space suitable. He even fixes the lighting to give it a dim feel while you pick an album you know Peggy will love and start it playing.

“Will you go get ‘em?” He’s almost giddy—it’s such a foreign feeling but he’s glad for it.

Peggy’s giggles trickle down as Steve carries her down the stairs, insisting all the while she can walk and demanding to know what they’re up to.

As they come into view Bucky spreads his arms wide, “Welcome to your own private dance. Best part is, you’re in full control of the music.”

“Bucky!” Peggy exclaims as Steve sets her on wobbly legs. “Oh, this is wonderful!”

The opening notes to a song Bucky just barely remembers hearing before kick up.

“I think I owe you a dance,” Steve says taking her hands.

“You’re damn right you do, Captain Rogers.”

You and Bucky hang back for a minute as Peggy and Steve begin a slow, tender, movement in the cleared makeshift dance floor. When Bucky looks down at you a tear finds its way down your cheek.

He immediately wipes it away with a cool metal finger. You catch his gaze, your own filled with joy and a little sadness.

“May I?” He holds out his hand much as Steve had a moment before to Peggy.

“I suppose, Sergent Barnes.”

Bucky pulls you close. As the singers croon “It’s been a long, long time” he can’t help but note how perfect it is for all of you.

There was so much loss, so much pain, but Peggy was right. Here, in the circle of his arms was his second chance at a life.

Looking up into his eyes you whisper the lyrics, “You'll never know how many dreams I dreamed about you.”

He stops your dance, takes your face in his hands, and plants a quick tender kiss on your lips.

Looking down into your eyes he’s overcome with excitement, and terror, and happiness as he realizes that you were worth the wait, worth the fight--but he didn’t have to fight this, not anymore. To you, to this feeling, he could surrender.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x reader #james barnes #1940s bucky barnes #steve and peggy #feels #fluff

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ncityofangels · 5 years

Text

Shoot Out (Mafia!AU, Jooheon x fem!Reader) pt. 1

a/n - Hi all! Before I begin I just wanted to say this is my first fic on this site so hopefully it doesn’t suck too bad. My friend @kmusictriggers requested this scenario (cuz y’all are dry and don’t request anything) but this is going to be a series so this is NOT THE END. I will update, hopefully frequently, but I want to gauge the reaction first so here it is! Part 1, ayeeee

--> Part 2

Summary - You meet Jooheon on a whim during a traumatic accident in your life. You don’t know what he does for a living, but you know he’s well off. As things progress you start to doubt where all the money comes from. One night you walk in on him handling mob business and get pulled into a life of crime and treachery. Things are good for a while, you being the Bonnie to his Clyde, but soon you start to question how far would you go for the one you love?

Word Count - 1.2k

Genre - some fluff, mostly angst towards the later chapters, maybe a sprinkle of smut who knows ;)

Warnings - maybe some “vulgar” language to some of y’all idk.

“Hey, Y/N! Before you leave, I was wondering if you were able to stay a few more hours to help review this advertisement we’ve been working on? You’ll get overtime.” your boss caught you right as you were getting on the elevator. You sighed. You knew that if you declined then you might as well consider yourself isolated from all other major promotions for the station. You worked at KBS and any chance you had to offer your services in exchange for a promotion was a good opportunity. “Yeah sure, I don’t have anything I need to do tonight anyway” you replied, hoping he didn’t sense the irritation in your voice.

After a couple hours of pouring your ideas and opinions into this toothpaste commercial the station was running, you were finally able to pack your stuff and leave the building. “Thank god it’s only 10, I might have time to actually eat dinner before I have to go to bed” you whispered to yourself. You had put yourself on a strict regimen of falling asleep by 12 so you would be able to get up bright and early to prepare for another day of work.

The truth is, you loved your job at KBS, you were a prominent editor in the company and pretty much had free reign over what was put out on the channel. The hours were great, and so was the pay, but a lot of times you’d end up having your free time stolen away just to edit one more commercial or review one more thing. It was a little inconvenient but I guess that was life right?

As you walked home, you put in your earbuds, blasting some underground hip hop you had discovered recently. You passed closed supermarkets, little hole-in-the-wall restaurants, and other small businesses. You always thought it was interesting how you could discover something completely new every time you walked the streets of Seoul. This was one of the reasons you had always wanted a career in broadcasting. You wanted to give a voice to the owners of tucked away places. Sometimes those were the best stories.

You were almost entering your neighborhood when you heard a raspy voice call out from behind you. “Hey lady! Come over here!” You barely heard the voice but it was loud enough to interrupt your thoughts. You quickly turned around trying to identify where the voice was coming from. “Over here!” you heard. In an alley to your left you noticed a man. He was beyond a little raggedy and looked desperate. “Do you have any money you could spare?” he replied. You were always a little nervous around people like him. It was a horrible thing to think but you couldn’t help how you felt. Slowly approaching him, you reached in your purse. You remembered you put $5 in there earlier to buy a coffee but of course never got around to it because of the overtime you were forced to work. “This is all I have on me at the moment. I wish I could give you more but I don’t have anymore cash.” You answered him, stretching out your arm to hand him the dollar bills. He took it out of your hand. “Thank you so much miss!” he replied. You smiled to him and went on your way, feeling good about what you just did. You resumed your music, until you heard his voice again, this time a lot closer. You could feel his dry breath on your neck. “I know you have more you little slut.” You were able to slightly turn towards him to shove him away, but were interrupted by a sharp knife piercing the side of your stomach. You fell to the ground in shock. He yanked your small purse out of your hand and started running in the opposite direction. What the hell just happened? All you could think about was the steady leak of blood coming from the wound. Was this really how it was going to end? You lying on the pavement, slowly draining yourself of blood until you drifted into a deep sleep? Before your eyes closed, you heard a voice coming from nearby. You only heard bits and pieces but managed to gather “Come on…...help…..have to take her…..Kihyun”. What a sweet voice you thought. Every syllable dripped from their mouth like honey. At this point you were delirious, any and everything randomly popping into your brain. Eventually you fell into a sweet unconsciousness, but not before you felt your body being lifted from the cold asphalt.

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Jooheon POV

“Pay up Seungcheol. I’ve tried being patient with you, but obviously you aren’t taking my graciousness seriously” Jooheon said to his tenant. “I..I’m.. sorry boss, I know I’m three months behind, I...I….just need more time. My daughter you see is only an infant and we still have to buy formula.” Seungcheol pleaded with his superior but he knew it was a lost cause. Jooheon was relentless whenever payment was owed. Especially if he made a personal visit. “I’ll give you a week to pay your dues, but if you haven’t paid by then then you’re going to have a lot more to worry about than buying your kid formula.” Jooheon replied. “Thank you! Thank you so much boss. I’ll get everything in order.” Seungcheol replied, bowing to his superior as he left the store. “If we hadn’t had to make more runs I would’ve had you torture him on the spot.” Jooheon said to Shownu as they walked down the street to their next stop. “Okay boss. Are you sure you just don’t have a soft spot for people in despair?” Shownu replied, acting extra over-the-top, just to irritate his superior. “Yeah, yeah, don’t press me or I’ll have you tortured too” he responded to his employee. They walked down the road in silence until they heard a muted scream coming from ahead. “Did you hear that, boss?” Shownu asked curiously. They stopped in the middle of the street, anticipating more sound but heard nothing. “Probably just someone getting nailed in an alley somewhere. None of our business. Let’s go, we have more stops to make.” Jooheon replied, as he resumed walking towards his next tenants store. “Wait, boss, what is that?” Shownu continued, referring to the still body laying in the boulevard. The next thing they saw was a disheveled old man running towards them tightly carrying a small beige purse and a bloody knife. “Get out of the way or I’ll kill you too!” the man yelled at the pair. Finally realizing what had happened, Jooheon yelled “Shownu go catch that homeless man, we have to teach him how to properly treat a lady” As soon as the words left Jooheon’s mouth, his bodyguard sprinted to catch the man. It didn’t take long as the older man was in horrible shape and wasn’t healthy enough to properly escape the clutches of a mafioso. “Got him boss” Shownu exclaimed, trying to project his voice far enough for his employer to hear. It didn’t take long for Jooheon to reply. “Good. now come here and help me, she’s losing a lot of blood. We have to take her to Kihyun.”

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survivorbehemoth · 4 years

Text

Episode 15: "congrats daisy for winning season 7 of celestial: behemoth!” - Jules

congrats daisy for winning season 7 of celestial: behemoth!

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JIOFEOJIFEWOJIWOJI THAT SOUNDS SO BITTER BUT DYLAN SIR U HANDED HER THE GAME! HANDED IT TO HER! GOD! and its what she deserves!

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anyways. let it be known this was NOT MY FAULT.

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let the record show, before last night's tribal, I SAID SOMETHING WAS NOT SITTING RIGHT WITH MY SPIRIT!!!!!!!!!! AND???? what happened. look what happened.

Vocaroo

Vocaroo 2

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Vocaroo

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Vocaroo 3

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still practicing my slide puzzles WJIJIEFIJWJIFIFWJEJWIEEJWIF

OH MY GOD I HATE THIS GAME I HATE THIS GAME I HATE THIS GAME!!!

this final 4 is absolutely amazing and i literally love all of them so much, but that just makes things 10x worse. i think that playing my idol on daisy was a huge risk and the fact that it is now a final 2 makes things a bit more interesting. my ideal plan was to have daisy in the final 4 with me so that i wouldnt be the next target, but now that she won immunity it just didnt work out how i intended at all!!

voting out jules and szymon is purely going to come down to which one of them will sway my way and it's going to hurt to send one of them to jury no matter what, but i just feel like i came all this way and not making top 3 would just suck so badly. so yeah, this sucks. i hate that no matter what i do im going to be upsetting people and hurting feelings but... i guess that's just the game! at this point im not even sure if i can win against daisy but it seems like she will take me, it just depends on whether or not i stay loyal to her if i win FIC or if i take whoever is with me in final 3.

much to think about, BUT I JUST CANT BELIEVE I MADE IT THIS FAR !!!!

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Jules is voted out 3-1. She becomes the 8th member of our jury.

Watch the Cast Assessment take place below:

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Szymon is voted out by Daisy. He becomes the final member of our jury.

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idk thought this would be cute to include my voting log and stuff hehe <3 https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1RiA0RUWX4TRpqBTgRzLJJ3fHu2jBqZ-bCJozFd3HcRs/edit?usp=sharing

Jules: https://youtu.be/6zKeJuOJKeY

https://youtu.be/5dV_-X6Rv2U

https://youtu.be/N5tnq-4QAT8

someone (zach) asked me to rank the jurors from nicest to meanest...so here we go. ily all <3 <3

1. seamus (this will def come as a surprise, but seamus was the most levelheaded and nice one on the jury. he really never made a bitter comment even though he had every right to, especially at me/daisy/dylan and really anyone who was in after him except chips. like. he was the only person to reach out in pms after and it was immediate, he really comforted me and i really admire men who can have like good relationship w/ women that are platonic??? i know he's been like terrible in the past and i did call him on some stuff in hydravivor and ill be the FIRST to admit that i called him a crackhead on a daily basis but i think he's grown a lot!!!!!! idk. i think he's also the MOST self aware!!!! im a seamus stan, what about it?)

2. brandan (while brandan was kinda irrelevant game wise this season -- but not in our hearts -- he was very objective and a peacemaker. he had good reason to be MIA too so the fact that he got as far as he did means to me that he did form some strong social connections. and he did!!! with me, i think w/ conor, so idk, he had a role like i did in the game imo. i really liked him and he really brought a fresh perspective on things!!!)

3. szymon (he's only not ranked higher bc he's pissed off rob and he stands his ground a lot more outwardly than the first two, at least in the jury chat. also he's not had as much time as a juror. but even then, i think szymon is not a bad guy like some of the ppl make him out to be. like, idk, i think he made a mistake on a game level and he even admitted it and idk he's a legend. truly. im so glad to have met him and i think he was a really nice juror to have around while he was ACTUALLY around bc he stood up for me/daisy the way seamus did)

4. lovelis (lovelis makes some pointed comments but.....he's not dumb at all and so i don't think he's been bitter. also his pointed comments have been funny and mostly radiating the energy of the other Bitter Jurors so idk. i really like him on a personal level as well and have for a while so idk. i dont KNOW KNOW him but he's never been the type to make harsh comments without them having some merit to them. so i kinda trust his judgement even though he wasnt in the game long/an early merge boot. idk i think he's open minded enough and he's also someone who admits when he's done a Lil Too Much but he's really lovely. just competitive.)

5. chips (i dont think chips is MEAN per se, in fact, i dont think he has a mean bone in his body on a personal level. like WFIJFJIFWE I DONT KNOW HOW ELSE TO SAY IT HES SO FUCKING NICE!!!!!!! but thats why it's so funny to see him in games bc he's a lil lying, a lil backstabby and sometimes he's a lil passive aggressive. but its not undeserved. its also a pisces thing WEFJIEIEJWEFJIWEF i think what i saw in the jury house was sometimes chips going along w/ things, but i dont know, i really do not know much about chips game and ill probs ask him more afterwards?? but idk he was REALLY nice to me tho so FWIJFWEWFIFW i just dont trust him in games.......i dont know whats on his mind half of the time......)

I WANNA SAY FOR THE NEXT 3 MEN THEYRE HEAVILY INFLUENCED BY THEIR FIRE SIGN PLACEMENTS SO while i know some of them do hold resentment, its a lot easier to deal with and work with and with all 3 of them we've talked it out with/are going to talk it out. only #8 has been the MOST stubborn but idk imma let him do his thing & try not to pass too much judgement u know cause i dont need to waste my braincells on that

6. conor (knowing conor's astrological placements makes this make sense to me. but i wanna say that i think he's the type of leo to like be upfront, get it out, vent, and be fine? which is why i respect him a lot and i think we do have a mutual respect for each other. some of the comments he made were kinda rude tho and him fake liking astrology for social game was SO UGLY TO ME!!!! like i'll clown him for it for as long as i know him now cause....JOKE'S ON HIM!!!!!!! WJOEFWEOWEFO but that was kinda mean but def conor's come around and seen the light / has also reached out to me to talk. he's also admitted he left a mean speech in sbbb9 and regretted it so i think he might just shoot off at the mouth a bit. but BETTER THE DEVIL U KNOW THAN THE ONE U DONT and i appreciate the transparency NOW as opposed to the fakeness of him saying he liked astrology for social game. THIS IS A HILL I WILL DIE ON!!!!! im a fan of leos tho and he's a leo moon like me. so. i think we'll be fine. )

7. rob (i actually really REALLY like rob on a personal level but i really do not know if i could play another game with him, at least survivor, id be open to playing bb. i think ill say that the best thing about rob is that he's also apologized, was one of the first to when i confronted them all, me and him have a good personal relationship tbh!! but some of the game comments he made were p harsh and he's definitely a lil bitter but again, he's admitted it, i think while he's more up front -- i dont think i ever wanna be on his bad side in a game. EVER!!! cause we didnt even have any loyalty to each other in the game but he was SO harsh on my game like it was wild bc i dont think id ever be that harsh to ANY OF THEM ABOUT THEIR GAMES LIKE THAT???? anyways. its fine bc again he's apologized and he's owned it but PHEW he got a lil bit of a sharp tongue. really eloquent tho!!!!!!!!!!! love hearing him speak)

8. gage (last but least the southern belle himself................this man an aries and i dont know his other signs but him being an aries man is enough. they POP OFF!!!!!! a lot of times there's some truth to it, sure, but sometimes they just be popping off and FOR WHAT!!!!! i do understand gage's frustrations though but even he apologized for being too mean in HIS FUTURE FUCKING CONFESSIONALSSSSSSSS TO MEEEEEE so. idk. he's got an issue with letting things go in games and miss annajane calls him on a lot of BS and it does NOT seem to really knock him down but. gage is really wht u see is what u get, doesnt really own his faults but at least u kinda know where ur at w/ him. but he's still probs the meanest one in there but i do understand from a game level why he was so fucked up about it, especially after hearing FTC. its just that. i understand his position. BUT HE NEEDS TO TAKE A XANAX SOMETIMES I S2G GAGE I WILL GIVE YOU ONE!!! girl it is NOT that serious!!!!!!)

also forgot to mention that i admitted to gage that chris from s1 was NOT actually my brother and his jaw was on the floor <3 I GOT TO DO ONE TROLL THING RIGHT!!!!!! rip me/seamus' showmance serious!!!!!!)

okay just to add onto my last confessional -- the songs i think represent me best from this playlist game wise are: - perfect for you - punchin' bag - stayin' alive - flip - femme fatale/future nostalgia (for the girls alliance that never was....rip but also me/daisy at merge vibes) - X - the shortchange - TAKE ME AS I AM!!!!! THAT SONG IS THE ONE THATS BECOME MY SONG!!!! for this game especially!!!!! - over yet (the lyrics literally speak for themselves) - tough on myself (sorry for stealing ur song vincent) - seven devils - villains pt. 1 (i dont think i was a villain but i did stuff in this game that i usually dont and would consider villainous for myself FEWIWFEJIFEW i was in my feelings!) - passion & pain taste the same when i'm weak (me coming into the jury house and realizing they'd all snatched my wig w/ the edges and the glue.....i DID cry to this song for at least 2 hours! yes i did! WIFJWJIWEIJE) - tar ('under the stars -- pull yourself from the tar'. at the end of the day, this season was fucking stacked and there wasn't one person who was a bad player at all. at all.stars, if you will. i was under a lot of stars and from all the breakdowns in my game to me actually breaking down -- i GOTTA PULL MYSELF FROM THE TAR!!!! learn!! grow!! be better!!)

TOP 5 (not 'perfect for you'): - punchin' bag - take me as i am - over yet - tough on myself - tar

good for my whole journey imo!! the last 3!!! okay this is my ACTUAL last confessional okay thank u for everything!!! bye!!!

https://youtu.be/T5wRzWwlOp8

and here's my personal playlist for the org: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2E8KGCo1SrBgoJIQ9DycfM?si=96PWq-6ERCyisacQr3zPww

it is literally an hour and a half until the winner reveal and i really just have no idea what's going to happen. like in the back of mind i just have a feeling that im losing bc, yeah you know self-deprecation woo! but yeah idk i think i really gave this game my all and while i dont think i played it flawlessly, i still think i played a strong game i can be proud of :,)

having it be a live final tribal for my first ever like, jury questioning was just--- ugh wild but i actually think it went really well. just based on what people were saying it definitely seemed as if some of the jurors didnt really want to see me and daisy at the end or like, really werent consider voting for me but i think i was definitely able to sway some people who were willing to listen and definitely gave some of the jurors something to think about. so whether or not i win i do think that i had a really great final tribal performance, maybe it was even enough to sway enough people into giving me their vote?? WHO'S TO SAY

anyways this has been such a wild experience and it's surreal to think that it's ending in like, a little over an hour but no matter what happens i can say confidently that i will be able to look back on this season fondly and will be leaving it with my head held high bc I REALLY DID THIS LIKE!!! I REALLY MADE IT TO THE END!! WOW I STILL CANT GET OVER IT HAHAHA!! but yeah bye forever <33

Rob’s Last Video: https://youtu.be/X3krxxfJ3oo

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Daisy wins in a 7-2 vote!

#superspooky

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