#ignore the missing lighter in that one panel

[toms-cherry-trees]

"Look After You" || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Time and distance cannot break certain promises

Word count: 4.2k

Tags: Mentions of war, mental asylums, unjust imprisonment, mentions of controversial mental health treatments, cross dressing (?), implications of violence against women, illness, no betareading we go in raw

Author's note: You might have seen this post where I mention the life of Dorothy Lawrence. Well this is very loosely based on her life mixed with Tommy's story. Left it very open to a part 2 if people like the premise.

(Yes my people watch me put together moodboards instead of choosing gifs)

Requested tag (hope not to disappoint) @brummiereader @emotionalcadaver

The asylum stood tall and imponent before Tommy’s gaze, its towering central dome and flanking turrets framed by the bright sun rays of a cheerful spring afternoon. The radiant gardens contrasted dramatically with the derelict state of the building itself; rusty and broken drainpipes hanging from the roof, rotten wood frames and shattered window panes, missing chunks of brick on the walls, revealing the inner framing and plaster. Nothing about that place inspired trust to those who crossed its threshold, let alone hopes of betterment. The lamentable exterior stood like the perfect match of the decadence within.  

The smell of rot assaulted him the second he entered. The paint had started to peel off, and moisture stains crawled across walls and ceiling. Most windows in the main hall were shuttered, and the incandescent light bulbs did little to cut through the darkness, casting a sickly shadow over the room. The orderly that welcomed him in the entrance had an embittered face, and he questioned Tommy on his name, whom he was visiting and his reasons to. He patted him down and overturned his pockets, making him leave behind anything that could be used to harm or be harmed. Cap, cigar case, lighter, sleeve garters and shoelaces stayed behind while another orderly led him through long hallways and endless locked doors towards the morning hall where he’d meet the purpose of his visit.

Finally, they stopped before a wide set of oaken double doors with panels of rubbed glass, which allowed him a faint peek of what happened on the other side. The orderly barely opened the door enough to enter himself and told Tommy to wait outside, as if he feared something may escape from within given the chance. After a few minutes he returned, leaving the gap open for Tommy to pass through.

 “Sister Janice will take you to her. Don’t look at other patients. Don’t talk to other patients. If they come to you, ignore them. Don’t take anything they give you”

Perplexed, curious and mostly annoyed by all the delays, Tommy ducked under the orderly’s arm while he held the door open. As soon as he stepped inside the orderly let go, and the door closed behind him with a heavy click.

The sudden brightness hurt his eyes after the unceasing darkness, and Tommy had to squint briefly as his pupils grew accustomed to his surroundings. An ample hall stretched before him, arch windows spanning from floor to ceiling lining the west and north walls. Moth eaten draperies of blue velvet had been drawn back to allow sunlight in, in hopes of insufflating some life into the gelid heart of the asylum.

The room had surely once been a magnificent ballroom, but had now been reduced to the sad, dirty, abandoned alcove where the non-aggressive patients spent most of their waking hours, some engaged in the very few activities offered to them, others dragging their feet and mumbling to themselves like lost souls, their gazes absent and their appearance unkempt. Not one person appeared to have a coherent thought there, and Tommy wondered if it was due to their own ailments, or due to the medicines the nurses forced down their throats to keep them tame and peaceful, albeit stupid. 

As Tommy walked past, he couldn't help but notice the way his presence drew attention from them. The patients stopped in their tracks to stare at him as if he were the most marvellous wonder they had ever seen. They pointed at him, uttering incoherences and laughing at jokes no one else heard. Some tried to get close but were forced back with a sharp gesture by the nun accompanying him, whom only now Tommy noticed, carried a mean looking leather strap, hanging side by side with a rosary from her cord belt.

At long last, she came into view. Slouched on a rocking chair facing the windows, a ragged purple cardigan thrown over a white, floor length dress, resembling more a nightgown than any sort of decent clothing. A white linen cap covered her hair, and Tommy noticed that the ties had been removed, as had been from the rest of her garments. She looked thinner, thinner even than she did in France. She gave no indication that she had noticed their presence, her dulled eyes fixated on the gardens outside.

 “I have it from here, sister” Tommy dismissed the nun with a wave of his hand, dragging a nearby stool to sit next to the woman.

 “I’m sorry Mr. Shelby, but I cannot allow you to be unsupervised with a patient. She seems tame now, but who knows what atrocities a woman of sin like her might commit”

Tommy wanted to snort. She barely looked strong enough to hold herself in the chair, how could she harm anyone?

“She won’t attack me sister” Tommy insisted “Now step back, and I will make sure the asylum is handsomely rewarded for your troubles.”

The nun opened her mouth, ready to argue, but then chose against it. The asylum could do with some extra coin, after all. She straightened up and smoothed her habit, perhaps a way to reinstate her authority that Tommy had so brazenly challenged. 

“You have half an hour” She stated at last before walking away towards a group of patients who were seemingly arguing over a doll.

Tommy’s gaze returned to the woman in front of him, who continued to be absent from the world around her, and who gave no sign of life other than the steady rising and falling of her shoulders with each breath. Thomas allowed the pause to linger between them a few seconds longer, but he didn’t want to waste his allotted time. He wouldn’t put it past these people to drag him out like that; the laws of men did not apply in these sorts of places.

He called her name softly, in a nearly soothing whisper. Once, twice, thrice, yet it did not do to her more than the drafts howling through the broken panes or the maniac laughs of the patients around them. He didn’t want to touch her and risk startling her, but he didn’t want to spend his visit staring at her left cheek. He took his last chance, using this time a different name, a name he had not pronounced since 1915.

“Private Anders”

The name stirred something in her mind. Her back straightened a bit and her features quivered in recognition. Slowly, stiffly, she turned towards Tommy, her eyebrows first furrowing in confusion then rising in surprise.

“Sergeant Major?” Her shock could not be disguised, and she readied to rise and salute, but Tommy motioned for her to remain seated.

“At ease, private” 

~

Tommy recalled perfectly the first day he saw her. They were stationed near Albert, digging up a new front line as they tried to gain terrain from the Germans. The troops from the British Expeditionary Force and the 179th tunnelling company consisted mostly of coal miners, all turned sappers whose task was to ready up the land for battle. The clay rich soil basically melted between their fingers when it rained, making the digging of trenches and shelters a never-ending battle. The dampness crept up their legs and seeped into their bones, and Tommy had seen one too many soldiers whose feet rotted inside their boots. Even the strongest men, used to work from sun to sun in the depths of the coal mines breathing dust and methane, would sometimes succumb to the elements. 

Tommy worked paired with Tom Dunn, a man as thick of back as he was of skull. He could easily lift an adult man and throw him across the field like a sack of potatoes, and legend has it he pulled the coal carts in the mine when the horses couldn’t. If left to it, he could probably dig out the trench with only his hands and his helmet.

He had been the one to introduce Tommy to her. Dunn had hidden that little lunatic in an abandoned cottage, not too far from where the troops were stationed. Somehow, she had obtained a uniform, which she had padded with cotton wool to flatten her curves and broaden her shoulders. Her hair had been cut in a military style, scrapes on her cheeks simulated a shaving rash, and potassium permanganate attempted to sharpen her jaw and cheekbones with dark shadows. 

She slept in a damp mattress, with little more than a threadbare blanket to keep her warm; she had no means of acquiring something better, nor could she light a fire in the dusty hearth for fear of being discovered. Dunn had been feeding her with whatever he could spare from his own rations or snatch from others, which meant she had been eating the minimum for survival, since the woods offered nothing but naked branches at that time of year. 

Tommy had been left thunderstruck, far too much to react properly. A million questions came to his lips, and a million died there as his mind couldn’t exactly put into words what he wanted to know. His gaze flickered between them both, who looked at him pleadingly like a couple of children asking their parents to stay up late. His first instinct was to call up their superior and hand her over to them, for her own safety, but then he thought about it better. The things that could happen to her if he handed her over to the war office…and that’s it, if they handed her over in the first place, or chose to make justice themselves.

No, for the sake of her safety and his conscience, he would play along with them for now.

“What is your name?” He inquired, a simple question to cut through the gelid silence that had befallen them.

For an answer, she handed Tommy papers and a matching dog tag. Forgeries, most likely, and very good ones, which meant she spent money on those. Paying from her own pocket to go to war

They held each other's gaze for endless seconds. At long last, Tommy offered a handshake.

“Welcome to the 179th tunnelling company, Private John Anders. I’ll look after you” 

~ 

Tommy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the meeting. The person who sat before him, hunched and dirty and completely lost to the world, bore no resemblance to the fiery, and perhaps a little unhinged, woman that had gone through every length to infiltrate herself in the front line. Years of memory seemed to have been erased from her mind, but she recalled vividly everything she went through in her time in France. She did not know the day and year she lived in but could easily recite the names of every man she met from the 179th, as well as every technique they implemented to dig out the clay.

Tommy was sure that, if he were to put a shovel in her hands, she would unconsciously start digging. 

He had partly placated his worries by placing a nurse in the asylum, one handpicked by Polly and paid out of his own pocket, to look after her. But that solution felt like not enough. Not by a mile. What that place did to her, what they were turning her into…Killing her bit by bit, stripping away her sanity to erase from her any memory she held of those weeks in the front. He still recalled the tunnel collapse, when the rain-soaked clay began to crumble over them like cold tar, obscuring their vision and sticking their feet to the ground. How the men dragged out each other, coated from head to toe in the reddish paste. She had tripped, her foot had gotten stuck, he couldn’t tell anymore. All he knew was that she had been left behind, and he had re-entered the tunnel for her. Feeling his way through the darkness, keeping an eye on the entrance, calling her name out; her fake name, for even in the face of danger he had the mental fortitude to remember the importance of her cover up. How she dropped her own facade, her fearful voice calling him as she stretched her arm towards him.

Tommy, Tommy, Tommy

“Tommy!” Billowed an angered female voice, dragging his thoughts back to the present time. 

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, attempting to dissipate the fogs of the past that laid over them. Because he was not in the tunnels, nor in the Western front. He was sitting in his office, behind his desk, nursing a whiskey in his hands and with Polly sitting across him, equally angered and perplexed at her nephew’s inattention.

“You know I don’t appreciate my words being wasted”. It sounded like a threat, but half of the things Polly said usually did “If you had no interest in this briefing, you could have rescheduled our meeting”.

“You hate your time being wasted” Tommy pointed out.

“Which is exactly what you’re doing now” She remarked.

Silence lingered in the office while Polly lit a new cigarette and Tommy downed his drink, which had already begun to warm in his hands. He stood to pour another, which he finished almost immediately.

“So” Polly began, exhaling the smoke in an elegant blow “Will you tell me what’s on your mind?” As usual, Polly could see through him as easily as one would do through a clean glass. It unnerved him sometimes, to be laid open so vulnerably under her watchful gaze.

“It’s nothing” Tommy sat before the fire; hands laced behind his head in an attempt to seem relaxed.

“There’s been many things on your mind, Tommy, and nothing has never been one of them”. Polly’s slender fingers ran across the glass bottles on the bar cart before settling on gin, pouring herself a more than generous serving.

“You’re thinking of her”.

Tommy immediately thought of denying it, but what was the point? When Polly knew, no one could tell her otherwise. And as much as he hated others meddling in his business, the words came tumbling before he could hold them back.

“I’m just worried. She’s not the same she used to be. I don’t know what they do to her in that place, but she’s changed. Those medicines they give her, and who knows what else they’ve done. You know the treatments” He shook his head, as if to dismiss everything he said “Just worried” 

“It’s been many years since you last saw her. Everyone changed after the war. God knows you did”.

“This is not the same. They’re killing her there” Tommy stared up at the ceiling, as if hoping to find a solution to his problems in the plaster. Polly only watched him, pondering over her next words carefully. She only hoped she would not regret whatever her nephew chose to do next.

“If her wellbeing worries you so, you have to do the right thing”

He frowned, turning to look at her with confusion clear in his eyes. Polly sipped the gin, swirling it around her mouth as she gave it a last thought. This was one of the far and few times in which Tommy proved he had a heart, and that softened her as well.

“If you are worried, you act. If they’re killing her in there, you get her out”

~

The sun had finally shone upon the soldiers after nearly a week of bad weather, when rain and fog had turned the living conditions in the trenches into nearly inhumane. The soldiers were happy, for they would no longer shiver until their bones ached, and they would at last be able to put their clothes and themselves to dry. The tunnellers were less than pleased, for the sun had dried the clay into a solid wall, forcing them to exhaust their muscles to dig out chunks the size of their heads while the sweat ran down their temples and backs. Their comrades kept them supplied with water, but it felt like pouring water on a bottomless bucket. 

Tommy worked side by side with her. Him. Her. Her identity still got tied in his mind, and he had to think through every word addressed in her direction for fear of blowing her cover. He watched her out of the corner of the eye as she swung the pickaxe with a strength and determination he never expected to see in a woman. Despite her resilience, Tommy worried about her, and kept a watchful gaze for any sign of exhaustion. She could not afford to be taken ill or injured, for a trip to the medical tent would be enough to unravel all her carefully crafted lies. He had to take care of her.

They both worked in the very end of the trench, and the sounds around them would conceal any hushed conversation. Tommy’s curiosity was stronger than his willpower

“Why?”

She didn’t react at first, and Tommy thought she either didn’t listen to him, or chose to ignore him, both of which were valid. But before he could ask again, she whispered back, keeping her manly tone

“Why what?”

“Why come here? What sane person would come here, on her own free will, to be forced into coldness and starvation? Risk your life, and for what purpose? Couldn’t find good places to dig back in England?”

She snorted, the sound quite lighter than any man’s laugh, so she concealed it by clearing her throat

“I wanted to serve my country, same as you. Is there any sin on that?”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night to sleep?”

She stopped digging for a moment, leaving the pickaxe embedded in the clay. She sat in the upturned bucket they used as stool, wiping the sweat from her brow with her sleeve. She couldn’t work shirtless, and their uniforms had been made to shield from the cold only. Tommy offered her water; she drank a sip and poured the rest on her head. He noticed her hair had grown again, and curled behind her ears. He made a mental note to give her a trim after nightfall.

“I just wanted to see what it was like. What it really was. They don’t tell us the truth back home. The newspapers make it sound as if the front is almost peaceful and the men are just laying back eating turkey while the Germans fall a hundred a day. I wanted the truth, and I want to write about it. Make a book of all the lies they fed us home.”

Her reasoning didn’t sit well with him. All that effort, that trouble, that risk, just to figure out if war was as bad as she thought? Mad, mad in the head this one.

“And what does your family think you’re doing away from home?”

She scratched her chin, in the same way Tommy did when he got a shaving rash from his blunt razors. She had picked up male mannerisms quite fast, particularly his own

“Not much family left to care what I do or stop doing. I said I’d come to France to volunteer as a nurse, but they most likely think I came as a camp follower. If they knew what I’m up to, they would have me committed to the closest madhouse”

“The madhouse is where you belong” Tommy replied, albeit jokingly, as he stopped his work to pull out a cigarette from his pocket. But he was interrupted by a ball of clay being tossed at his face with masterful precision, dampened for maximum effect.

“Shut up, Sergeant Major”

 ~

Blue skies and a pleasant breeze welcomed them at the gates of Arrow House. Tommy chose to drive this time, taking the advice from the doctor who would oversee her care, who suggested she be exposed to the least amount of people possible during the first days as she adjusted to life outside. Only Tommy, Frances and the nurse who would be her primary caretaker.

She stared at the world around her with such wonder, like a blind whose sight had been restored. Every tree, every bird, the very landscape that surrounded his manor brought such wonder onto her face, like a child with a Christmas tree. Her happiness almost managed to convince him that this was, in fact, a good idea. 

When Polly told him to get her out, he knew she meant to put her in a home of her own, with a caretaker, and allow her to have a life of her own. And Tommy considered the idea, for a while. To place her in a nice neighbourhood, in a house with a garden and a balcony where she could enjoy the sun, with a nurse and maids and a car. But it didn’t sit right with him. She had been alone ever since they took her. Imprisoned until the war ended, and then released only to be taken to the madhouse at first chance. Not one familiar face around her for nearly a decade. No, Tommy wouldn’t take her out of a cage just to put her back in a smaller, prettier one. She needed someone to protect her. And for better or worse, that one could only be Tommy. 

When the car came to a halt, she was the first one out, gaping at the imponent state which Tommy owned. 

“Is this where you live, Sergeant Major?” The wonder was palpable in her voice. But the only thing Tommy noticed was that after everything she still couldn’t find it in her to call him by his name.

“2000 acres of land, of which 12 are just garden, and 750 acres of farming land”

She cocked an eyebrow, and in the amused twinkle of her eyes Tommy saw a glimpse of the one she used to be.

“Are you a farmer now, sir?” She disguised her laugh behind the handkerchief she insisted on carrying, looking down like a bashful schoolgirl.

Tommy pulled out a cigarette; he felt the corner of his lips pulled into the shadow of a smile, pleased to see her spirits lifted.

“My business is more focused on progress and modernity, but I wouldn’t reject the idea. Perhaps one day it’ll come in hand to have crops and cows”

“That would be the bloody day” She didn’t even try to hide her laughter this time “Our mighty Sergeant Major, dressed in overalls and with mud up to his knees shovelling cow shit”

“I find myself more interested in horse shit these days. Come on, I’ll show you around” 

Tommy gave her a complete tour of the house and adjacent grounds, both to show her everything that would be at her complete disposal, and also as a way to show off how far he had come since they were both in the trenches, hunched over a meagre fire lit inside an empty can and sharing a homemade cigarette made from tobacco leftovers. Her eyes were wide with wonder, her fingers running over tapestries, leathers and carved wood with childlike wonder

He saved her room for last. A wide bedroom at the very back of the house, situated in a corner with plenty of windows. It had a view of the back of the state, so she could enjoy the gardens, the horses and the surrounding woods. In the corner with the most sunlight Tommy had placed a writing desk, supplied with paper, pens, ink and a brand new typewriter. Amidst everything sat a bunch of old and worn pages, all of different sizes and materials, kept together nicely with leather cord. She picked it up gingerly, running her thumb over the first page. Even though the paper was stained and dusty, the words could be read as easily as the first day she wrote them.

Tears flooded her eyes, and she hugged the improvised diary to her chest like it was a most prized possession. And perhaps it was. She turned towards Tommy, a mixture of bewilderment and eternal gratitude plastered on her features

“Where did you get it? I thought they would have had it destroyed when they locked me up”

Tommy only smirked, pulling out a cigarette from the golden case he carried “Remember what I told you? Always make sure someone owes you something”

That gesture, so small yet so meaningful, shifted something inside her. Her eyes brimmed with tears she attempted to fight, but they won in the end. She practically jumped into Tommy’s arms, hugging him with the eagerness of a person who has been denied a caring touch for far too long.

“How will I ever be able to thank you enough, Sergeant Major?”

His free arm circled her frame, returning the gesture

“You can start by calling me Tommy”

~

Worry crept up Tommy’s spine as the higher ups did their rounds to inspect the work on the freshly dug trenches. It had been three days since she last showed up, and he would soon run out of lies to cover up for “Private Anders’” absence. 

As much as she tried to deny it, finally the harsh conditions had caught up to her. Her health had gone down a slippery slope with the arrival of winter. First it had been just a fretless dry cough, easily softened with pine tea. But then came the bone pains, the headaches, the constant fatigue. The dampness of her safe haven had seeped into her bones and caused some sort of rheumatism. Tommy noticed the swelling of her hands as they struggled to grip the pickaxe. Her hair began to fall out in clumps.

The shivers and the fever had finally knocked her off her feet. She had been unable to leave her cottage, which in turn worsened her condition even further. Tommy had tried to bring her something more substantial to eat, but she seemed unable to eat more than a few bites of stale bread dipped in some coffee the Americans had given them. Dry, suffocating coughs racked her body until she had to gasp for air, her teeth and lips speckled with blood.

“This is the end line” She had mumbled weakly during the third night, while Tommy tried to desperately convince her to light a fire to warm and dry the place

“No. You are not going to die. I won’t allow it. I told you I’d take care of you” He stated firmly, sitting on the floor by her side with her hand in his, his other one cupping her feverish cheek. He had been in a similar spot, not too long ago. Watching life fade away from a young woman’s eyes. He refused to let her die, not like that, not there where he would have to dump her body in the river.   

“I am not going to die” She stated with a conviction her current condition didn’t match “But to survive, I have to turn myself in”

The idea of handing her over to the war office filled Tommy with panic

“No, no you cannot do that. Do you have any idea what they could do to you? Your best prospect would be to be thrown in jail, to be given 10 years for impersonating a soldier. And that’s if the higher ups are feeling compassionate” He shuddered at thinking what those wolves would do to her “Listen, I get leave tomorrow night. I’ll go to the nearest town, get some medicine, maybe I can pawn some things and get you a new blanket. You-”

“No” With great effort, she propped herself up in one elbow. Tommy couldn’t help but notice the strands of hair left in the pillow “I’ve implicated you long enough. The excuses and lies you have made for me are enough to have you dishonourably discharged and tried. You have done everything you could for me, and for that I am  forever indebted to you, Sergeant Major. This next chapter in my life, I have to write it alone”

She sounded dejected and disappointed, as if she had failed some unwritten expectation of her adventure. But Tommy thought quite the opposite. He only felt admiration for the things she had put herself through in order to tell her story. He still thought she was mad in the head, but in a completely different way

“Will you mention my name when you write your book?” He asked jokingly, helping her lay back down slowly, pulling the ragged blanket up to her chin

“Only if you want to be jailed next to me for helping an intruder” She laughed, but the sound was cut short by another fit of coughing “I’ll dedicate it to you, Sergeant Major. Everything I write and do will be because of you”

~

Tommy awoke with a startle. His eyes were wide open, darting around the room as he tried to locate the source of the disturbance. Everything seemed to be calm in his room. And then it happened again. A dry thud in the wall, followed by a muffled scream.

In a heartbeat he was out of bed, gun in hand. He followed the noises, which seemed to grow louder the closer he got to her bedroom. The door was ajar, allowing a sliver of moonlight to project in the floor, in which Tommy could see two shadows moving.

He stormed inside, gun ready to fire. But he didn’t find an intruder, no. Just her, on her knees, banging her fists against the wall as she screamed. Her nurse stood by her side, amidst a disaster of clothes and books and other objects, unsuccessfully trying to coax her back to bed

“Miss, please. The hour is quite late. You need sleep”

“No, no. The walls are coming down. We have to get out, the roof’s collapsing!” She yelled desperately, clawing at the wall trying to dig herself out of some dark place that only existed in her head. He saw her nails tear the wallpaper with ferocity. And then he noticed the nurse unlocking a cabinet and pulling out a syringe

“No” He said almost immediately as he put a firm hand on the nurse’s arm “Go to bed. I have this”

“But Mr. Shelby!”

“I said go. Leave me with her”

The nurse doubted, holding his gaze, but chose to exit the room, closing the door behind her.

Tommy walked towards her slowly, afraid he would startle her. He gingerly touched her arm, but his presence went as unnoticed as a speck of dust. He called out her name, again and again, without success. The mud had seeped deep in her brain, as it had done his, and blocked her senses from the outside world. In order to get through, Tommy had to get into the mud with her

He stood tall, in martial position, hands behind his back

“Private Anders!”

Quick like a lightning bolt, she stood up and saluted in a firm position. Tears streaked her face and her entire body quivered like an autumn leaf

“Sergeant Major sir!”

“At ease, private. You are relieved of your duties. Time to go back home”

Like the lifting of a spell, her eyes glossed over as she blinked slowly, looking around her from the bed, to the things she had thrown around in haste, and finally towards Tommy. Her lower lip quivered

“What is happening to me?”

Her knees faltered. Tommy lunged forward before she could hit herself, coming down to the floor with her held in his arms. She burrowed herself in his chest, her fingers clinging to his shirt as she wept, her body racked by sobs. Tommy shushed her quietly, his fingers carding through her hair

“Don’t cry. I’ll take care of you”

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby one shot #marsie writes #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine

[hunnysnoops]

White Teeth Teens

Chapter Three: Contagious

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

I picture you in a bad dream, coughing up your guts. It’s funnier in theory but I’ve pictured it too much. You’re saying what you had to say and staring at my mouth.

Premise: What could make an unbearable field trip with an unbearable man any worse? Don’t worry, you’ll find out.

Warnings: crude language+humour / vomit / unconsciousness

You found it increasingly difficult to fight the urge to smash the bus window and drag yourself through broken glass just to hit the pavement with a sickening crack of bones. Easy to say you weren't thrilled about the field trip waiting for you.

The fish filet sandwich you had choked back at the rest stop was already disagreeing with you and you were sure it wouldn't be the only thing troubling you on this day. The driver hits a speed bump, hitting you extra hard in your seat at the back, you feel bile rising up your throat and slap a hand over your mouth. "You okay?" Wendy asks, her voice soft.

You nod, giving a thumbs up with your free hand. When the feeling dissipates, you dig into your backpack for your water and start to chug it until the lingering taste of bile alleviates entirely. "Next time please tell me not to eat gas station fish."

"I told you not to this time," Wendy tells you. The forty-minute bus ride was just about over, you would've been savouring the one-on-one time you got sitting next to Wendy if food poisoning wasn't setting in and sending ripples through your stomach.

"I can't be the only one who ate the fish filet," Arms crossed over your stomach to try and smother out the growing pain you swivel your head to look around the bus where everyone else seemed to be chatting happily or ignoring the world with their headphones in. The walls of the bus are panelled with aged, weathered metal, showcasing patches of chipped paint and faded colours that hint at its former glory. Scuffs and scratches tell stories of bustling school days and the trips long passed upon within these walls, an occasional doodle of graffiti where the faculty had turned a blind eye.

Wendy takes a glance around well, "No, I'm pretty sure you were," The back of the teal seat in front of you was littered with smiley burns from cigarette lighters that degenerate kids had soiled the leather with. "I think it's like the number one rule of gas stations not to eat fish there."

You groan and tilt your head up to look at the rusted ceiling, with each passing second regrets gather in your mind like a high school reunion. This biology trip had slipped from your head completely, it was meant for the class to gather independent research on the local ecosystem by sending teenagers into the woods and expecting them all to turn up at the time they were supposed to when they were done. You were anticipating a few pairs of kids to roll back up to the meeting point at least half an hour past the allotted time.

In your mind, there wasn't anything good about this trip. The information sheets Mr. Waterman had given you explained that you were meant to be using the buddy system with your lab partner, who happened to be Kyle, someone you were definitely not buddies with. You didn't even get to leave any other classes early, you left ten minutes after your last class began which was biology and you were going to be gone for two hours plus the ride there and back. All you needed to gather information on the local ecosystem was ten minutes and a cell phone instead you were missing soccer practice to poke around in the woods.

Kyle wasn't thrilled about this either. He was one of the handful of students who shoved his headphones in and turned the volume up so loud that he couldn't hear anything or anyone besides The Cure. He had unfortunately been stuck next to Cartman who was currently spouting slightly prejudiced remarks towards David that went unheard by Mr. Waterman at the front of the bus.

The bus came to an abrupt stop in a parking lot surrounded by forest. Before the doors even opened you had grabbed your backpack and run to the front, banging on the door to be let out. When you finally set foot into fresh air you were almost brought to your knees almost choking on the clean air. That was what was nice about South Park, the air wasn't dirty and stagnant like the city, it was ever-moving and ever-changing.

One more minute in that bus and you would've thrown up, the combination of, axe spray, perfume, body odour, and teenage angst almost fogged up the windows. The class piled out of the bus, adjusting their eyes to the bright sun that would fade in a few hours. You made note of the outhouse tucked into the corner of the lot, being sure that you would need it later to spill your guts before you get back on the bus.

Mr Waterman wastes no time in hopping off the bus and prepping himself to preach the criteria once again. With the signature clap of his hands, he begins "Okay, I know it's a very exciting day but let's try to hold it in for a moment," There was not one person in that crowd who was excited "I expect you to stay in your assigned groups and to return by four, that is in," He looks down at his watch "An hour and a half, so gather as much information as possible, make sure that you record it, I want to see field observations, species identification, sampling, each group gets one quadrat to use so be careful with it."

Your assigned group begins to awkwardly flock together, no one looks particularly happy. The group was made up of you, Kyle, Cartman, David, Cylde, and Tweek, any bright side may have been overshadowed by the fact that you could tolerate one and a half people in this group. David was usually chill while Clyde was 50/50, depending on the day he might make you want to charge for his throat with unbridled rage and open palms to wrap your fingers around his neck until his eyes roll back in his head.

"Okay, looks like everyone's getting their things in order," Mr Waterman said "Now, please don't stray too far off the trails, it should always be in sight. Remember, you will be back to working one-on-one with your lab partner tomorrow." He looks around for a signifier that his class is listening, the majority seemed spaced out or were divulged entirely in conversation. "Any questions?" Nobody said a word. "If any group cares to join me, I will be walking to the river!"

"So-uh, should we go to the river?" Cylde broke the sickening silence between the six of you.

"No," You snatched the quadrat out of his hands and began heading for one of the trails. The group trailed behind you, Cartman uttering complaints as expected.

"Junkie's leading us to her heroin den." He says, obnoxiously loud to Cylde. You almost wanted to swing around and hit him over the head with the grid in your hand.

"Do you even know what we're supposed to be doing?" It was like David read your mind and asked Cartman for you.

"Look at animals and shit, I'm not stupid."

"Had me fooled," You mutter under your breath and delve even further into the thicket. The ancient trunks were adorned with a tapestry of mosses, lichens, and ferns. Shafts of sunlight pierce through the canopy of leaves above your head, illuminating patches of moss and casting dappled shadows to dance across the muddy forest floor.

"Where are we going?" Tweek speaks up, his right eye twitches and his fingers tap against one another. He's shaking as he walks. You wondered how he was able to function day to day with nothing more than caffeine in his veins.

"Into the woods, bro," Cylde walks up next to him, shoving his hands into his pockets. You had been praying that Cylde wouldn't be in your group but whatever gods rest above seem to hate you. He and Bebe had made it official which you had to hear through Nichole since you and Bebe still weren't on speaking terms after the night of the clamp.

This was the point where you tuned yourself out of the conversation to actually get some work done, it seemed like Kyle had been doing the same. With keen eyes and attentive ears, you observed the bustling activity of birds flitting among the branches, the scurrying of small mammals in the underbrush, and the rhythmic chirping of crickets in the distance.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, ignoring the low battery warning that seemed all too common in recent days and began to flood your camera roll with pictures of birds and little bugs you would find underneath rocks.

Only part of the group was doing something, that part being you, Kyle, Tweek, and David, while the other two buffered around you. Cartman wanted no part in any of the work while Cylde just seemed unsure of what to do so he would just touch things and make a vague comment about it. He crouched down, running his hand over a rock and then looking at his palm "Yeah, that-uh, seems pretty old, maybe like twelve years old."

"We aren't carbon dating rocks," David said as he added to the list of litter in his notebook to mark human impact in the forest.

"Oh, cool," Cylde nodded.

From what you could see, you had the only group on your current trail and the deeper into the forest you moved, the darker it got, trees growing denser and thicker overhead to block out sunlight. The shade was a nice relief, it made you feel a little less nauseous though sickness was still tearing at your insides. You were doing everything in your power to stay on track, figuring it better to focus heavily on the work aspect as opposed to paying attention to your gnarly stomach.

By the time you were out there for an hour, it felt like a decade in your mind, you couldn't stay trained on the research, instead, you passed the metal quadrant off to David and drank the rest of your water while clutching your stomach.

"So how does the square work?" Cylde peered thoughtfully over where David and Tweek were kneeling on the ground. The boys looked back up at him, David had tossed the gridded frame over a random patch of grass to take a survey of the plants.

"We learned about this last class," David answered, unamused.

"Interesting," Cylde rubs his jaw with his hand, furrowing his eyebrows like he's deep in thought.

"I feel like we should all pitch in equally if we're going to be working off the same data," Kyle glares at Cartman who leaned against a tree, playing Subway Surfers on his phone.

"I agree, diabetes boy, so get to work," He answers pausing his game for a moment to look up.

"You're one junior bacon cheeseburger away from diabetes yourself and all you've been doing is scrolling on your phone while everyone else does the work fatass," Kyle retorts, you had suspected he would come to a breaking point at some time today with Cartman.

"Uh, what about Junkie?" He draws the attention to you where you stand, taking slow and laboured breaths in and out, in an attempt to keep the fish filet sandwich inside of you. "I'm pretty sure she's overdosing."

"Can you stop calling her that?" Kyle asks, much to your surprise though you had your priority set on other things.

"Oh?" Cartman's eyebrows raise, that's how you can tell that you piqued his interest. Cartman turns his phone off and tucks it back into his pocket, crossing his arms and staring at Kyle "You're defending her now? Are you guys going to go home together to pop opiates and drown yourselves in a bathtub?"

"No," Kyles's nose wrinkles in distaste "It's just annoying."

"Oh, Jesus man! don't fight!" Tweek looks ready to rip his hair out, and David casts him a side-eye. It was moments like this where you think it would've been more rightful if Tweek was the one who had the nicknames on Junkie and Crash which you considered a cross you had to bear.

"We need to head back soon so can we *hic*  please just finish this?" You chime in, voice breaking with hiccups as you speak. The sound of their simmering argument was grating in your head like someone had stuck a fork into a blender.

"Crash, get your nose out of the snow and get back to work unless your brain is too fried from the black tar."

You had taken a complete 180 from trying to leave with as little conflict as possible to be more riled up than Kyle. "Shut the fuck up, Cartman."

His eyes carry the oh-so-familiar hint of challenge that you were so used to seeing "What are you gonna do? Have a seizure on me?"

"No, I'll kick your fucking ass." You take a step towards him pushing back your sickness the best you could. Cartman wasn't the tallest nor was he very agile, you were sure that you could take him even if it might prove to be a bit strenuous.

"Woah," He inches back as you move forward "Back up a little there," Cartman laughs nervously, landing around at someone to intervene. Had it been someone else Kyle probably wouldn't gotten between you two, but having it be you and Cartman, the other four watched with imploring eyes.

Things might have played out differently if it weren't for the growling in your stomach, the dry heat, the lack of nicotine you were fiending over, and the past four years you had silently endured Cartman making fun of you for an exaggeration of your smoking issue. "Be quiet or I'm going to knock you upside your fucking head."

You stood a foot away from him, moments passed where he played out every scenario in his head until he finally settled on a response. "Okay, man, we're cool," He raised his hands up in surrender. Just seconds after you had turned your back you heard Cartman speak up "Don't want you to hulk out on me when you're on the Roids."

Out of raw instinct, you turn on your heels and bring your right fist to connect with Cartman's cheekbone. Everyone stares at you in utter shock. Cartman himself looked as if he could never have seen this coming like it was preposterous that he had pushed you to the point where you swung at him.

Tweeks eyes grow so wide you think they might pop out of his head "Ah! I can't take this!"

"What the fuck?" Cartman reaches his hand to touch the area where your knuckles had cracked against his face. "She actually fucking hit me," He looks around at the boys with wide shocked eyes until they land on you "You fucking bitch!"

"And I'll do it again you tiny dick licker." Your gaze is unwavering on Cartman though your wild thoughts are jumping around your head like they're freshly off Adderall.

"That's assault, I can sue you for that."

"Go ahead," you point to Kyle "His dad's a lawyer."

"Shit," Cartman mutters "A Jew lawyer."

"What does my dad have to do with this?"

"Everything," he says, a thought hits him "Kyle, I would kindly like you to ask your dad to represent me."

"No."

"Kyle, be cool," Cartman says.

"Shut up porky, don't tell him to be cool, he isn't a part of this."

"Hey! You’re a crackhead bitch with a drug addiction!" He speaks with so much haste that spit comes flying from his mouth like an alpaca.

"You're yelling? I can yell too!" The pair of you are being so loud that a handful of birds fly away from a tree overhead "You look like you snuck onto earth!" You weren't being attentive to the boy's reactions around you, your mind was stuck between bashing Cartman's teeth into a tree or running back to the parking lot and getting some Zyn off Marshall.

"Okay, that's it," Cartman says, he raises his fists and narrows his eyes "We're having it out right now."

"You just had it out," David is packing everything up, he looks beyond done with this as much as he liked watching Cartman get decked.

"Nuh-uh, she caught me off guard," Cartman shakes his head "Junkie is gonna rue this day, her white blood cells are gonna have to put in more work than on shoot-up Saturdays!"

"You're a lard ass piece of shit and that's why your dad died!"

Cylde sucked a sharp breath through his teeth and the group fell completely silent. The only sound was animals rustling around and the slight breeze cutting its way through the trees to shake their leaves. Even Kyle looked shocked, his eyebrows raised and green eyes wide.

"Okay, too far." Cartman drops his hands to his side.

"Yeah, man, you can't say that," Cylde says from behind Kyle.

You toss your hands up in exasperation, nothing left to say after you had bitched Cartman out and in doing so made it look like you're drifting off the rails. Sticking your middle finger out at Cartman, you turned around and began walking back down the trail, ignoring the flush of embarrassment rising to your cheeks.

You wanted desperately to act like that little spat hadn't made you feel like a spectacle that would catch through students' breaths the next day like folklore. Surely the event would be spun, twisted, and contorted into an exaggeration of the single punch that was thrown.

The boys walked behind you, keeping their distance. Though none of them were directly speaking to you, you were able to make a comment here and there. They weren't speaking about you but you could feel eyes digging down into you like they were prying your flesh open and examining your carcass for any more anomalies that they could tell their friends about later that night.

Over and over again, you looked down at your phone, staring at the time like doing so would make it move faster until your phone froze and died completely. Even when the screen was stuck pitch black, you pretended to scroll on it like you were busy.

Back in middle school, there were those kids whose faces would turn red with anger. They'd flip over desks and scream at the underpaid teachers until their throats itched like sandpaper rubbing on concrete; you remembered how everyone else regarded them after this. They kept their distance and didn't dare utter a word for fear they would be snapped like the teacher's red correction pen. You thought maybe this is how they felt, ashamed of their actions and holding back tears while they bite a quivering lip, facing the tears of humiliation from their brief moments of violence.

It didn't feel too bad but it didn't feel too good either.

Sure you tended to be more on the hot-heated side of things but you couldn't remember the last time you actually hit someone. It didn't matter that it was Cartman, it still made you want to jump into the shower and scrub your skin until it became irritated.

A growl rips through your stomach, loud enough for you to hear but not so much that the boys notice. It felt like your body was breaking up with you. Ripples of pain slice through your stomach and nausea crawls its way up to your throat.

You glance back to the boys behind you who chat amongst themselves, seemingly they've lost interest in you. You had no desire to heave your entire body weight out in front of them so you take a B-line and slip off the trail.

"Hey," Cylde calls after you, watching as you venture into the woods. "Guys she's leaving." He tells the others. You wanted to run back and punch him in the gut before jetting off to empty your guts onto the forest floor.

After the attention is drawn back to you, you pick up your pace "Fuck off, I'm sick," you call back to the group, now jogging to avoid what you had imagined to be more embarrassment than what you had already set for yourself. Surely you would never mentally recover after punching Cartman and then throwing up in front of five guys on a biology field trip. If you were going to spew, it would not be in front of him.

"Where are you going?" Kyle turns his body to watch you as you slink off deep into the forest, one hand covering your mouth while another clutches the fabric over your stomach. "Someone should go with her," he glances around the group for a voludnteer though everyone just looks at each other, waiting for someone to speak up.

You don't respond, you just race further in the thicket until you're out of sight entirely but your feet don't stop, they keep carrying you.

He looks back to the trail and then to where you were before your figure disappeared behind trees, his mind races with thoughts of Mr. Waterman talking about the buddy system. "Fuck," He mutters to himself before abandoning the well-worn trail and chasing after you.

"Jew, why are you going after her? she's probably going to her meth stash!" Cartman called after Kyle to no response. "Oh my god, she's going to kill him for drug money."

"Go *hic* away!" You yell between gags. Out of anyone in that group, you weren't sure if Kyle was the best or worst to see you like this. As he gains on you, you speed up, trying to get him off your trail.

"Can you stop?" He calls after you as you maneuver your way between thick tree stumps, gliding smoothly over the imperfection embedded in the dirt. Kyle didn't want to fathom what would happen if something happened to you in the forest and his mother found out he was supposed to stick to your side. "C'mon, don't be stupid."

Kyle seemed relentless in catching up to you. Everywhere he turned his head, it looked the exact same like someone had copied and pasted an abundance of trees all around him. He wasn't the biggest wilderness guy, he had been in scouts as a boy but the most he usually delved into nature was the occasional weekend camping trip with his family which was a novelty itself.

The queasiness continued to chew at your insides, growing more intense by the minute. Unable to hold back any longer, you doubled over, you fell to your knees, one hand supporting you on a tree so you don't fall over, retching violently as your body expelled its contents. "Uh, do you want me to hold your hair?

"Ew, fuck off!" Kyle watched helplessly, fighting the urge to vomit himself as his face contorted. You notice his presence behind you, glancing back to be sure, you yell out between gags "Turn around!" Before more warm and chunky spittle spills out of your mouth.

"Okay," He raises his hands in defence before swiftly turning around, internally cringing at the sound of your heaving. Just when he thinks it's over you start back up again. He hadn't entirely believed you when you said you were sick, he rationalized that you just wanted to get away from the group.

He did his best to ignore the sound, instead, he focused on the moss clinging onto bark or the tweet of birds hanging onto branches and singing songs to one another. The way you could hardly see the sky with how dense the trees were, just beams of sunlight slipping through. Kyle swivelled his head and that was the moment he had no idea where you were, surely not too far from the trail.

"I'm done," You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Kyle turns around and sees you on your knees, eyes drowsy and face devoid of its usual colour. You swish saliva around in your mouth before spitting on the ground and wobbling up to your feet like a colt. Digging around in your bag you pull out a warm half-drunk Powerade, you were out of the water and would rather throw up again than ask Kyle for some of his. Now your mouth tasted like acid reflux and green apple electrolytes.

"You're going the wrong way," He says bluntly.

"Uh, no," You point past him "We ran from there to here so we just go back, dumbass." Figuring Kyle had followed you for some chivalrous reason that his mother instilled in his brain, you didn't feel like pressing it. Still, you tried to keep communication with him to a minimum.

"You threw up on the far side of the tree, we need to go that way," He points behind you.

You had figured he was right, you were too busy trying to get away from him that you weren't being too attentive to where your tired feet were rushing you too "Sure."

"Sure?" He furrows his eyebrows "What do you mean sure?"

"I mean sure."

"Yeah, but you said it like you were doubting me."

"I'm not," You shrug, beginning to walk in the direction he gestured towards.

"You just did it again," He says "I'm right," Kyle insinuates "I know where we're supposed to be going."

"Okay, cool, fine, sure, yeah, you're right," You turn around and toss your hands up "Were you also rendered paralyzed or can you walk instead of staring at me like you're brain dead?"

He sticks up his bony middle finger but follows you nonetheless. The two of you keep your distance, being sure to stay a metre apart minimum while you hunt for a way out of the thicket. Your eyes drift to Kyle who is trying to get service on his phone, he intended to text Cylde that you two might take a while though he was met with four flat bars and a red 'not delivered' beneath each message he sent.

You didn't bother, your phone was long dead and cold in your backpack, what you were more worried about was finding something to keep you calm before this inevitably escalated. After your gym teacher caught a glimpse of your Marbolos and gotten you an in school suspension, you decided it was best to leave cigarettes in your car and the bottom of your closet. With each passing second. you were wishing that you kept an emergency cigarette or two tucked safely into a ziplock baggie at the bottom of your backpack. 

Gnarled branches reached skyward in a tangled embrace, blocking out the fading light of day as the sunlight was being swallowed up by grey clouds leaving everything to look dull. The undergrowth grew denser, forming a tangled maze of ferns, brambles, and fallen branches that blocked your path at every turn.

It had taken you seven minutes to come up with a consensus "We're lost,"

"No, we're not." He says, trudging forward "If we keep walking we'll find a trail or something, they're everywhere."

"It took two minutes till I got to the tree and I puked, we've been walking for ages."

"It hasn't even been ten minutes."

"Okay? You smell like pistachios and we're going the wrong way," You tell him, stopping abruptly under the shade of a tree. You say, taking another dreadful sip of the Powerade, trying not to wince at the penicillin taste that the stagnant drink left in your mouth.

"I don't smell like pistachios," He says blankly.

"How would you know?" You rest one hand on your hip, the other hanging at your side and clutching what was almost an empty bottle of electrolytes.

Kyle's expression morphs into a portrait of confusion, etched with furrowed brows and a perplexed frown, lips slightly ajar. His green eyes, usually clear and focused, now stared at you in disbelief, searching for some type of reasoning behind your question. "What do you mean 'How would I know'?" He asks "You think I've never eaten a fucking pistachio?"

You answer him with a shrug, face unreadable "I always thought they were too exotic for you."

"They're nuts." Kyle says "They don't have a smell."

"You know this because you've eaten nuts?"

"Yes." His voice is tinged with confusion.

"Then why would they make pistachio notes to put in perfume?"

"Because people are fucking idiots who just want to sell stuff."

"Do you eat a lot of nuts?"

"I guess?"

"I bet you do," you snigger.

Realization strikes Kyle and he runs a hand through his curly red locs to soothe his fast-growing frustration, "Wow, super mature joking about nuts."

"Don't talk about being mature when you just spent a minute of your life arguing with me about nuts." You point out "Do you maybe want to be mature and admit that we're lost?"

"We're not, we just need to go this way," Kyle turns and begins in a new direction completely. You glance around at the the long trunks, each looking the same as the next before you follow Kyle in tow.

The further you walked the heavier the sense of uncertainty began to hang over you. Your irrational thoughts began to creep up, maybe there was a knife-wielding maniac who would kill the pair of you for intruding in his forest.

You forge ahead, footsteps echoing softly against the forest floor as you navigate the labyrinth of twisting trails and hidden clearings. Kyle's eyes were narrowed, you could almost see the the gears turning in his head as he tried to retrace your steps or at least find a clearing out of the forest.

While he was hyper-focused on the task at hand, your mind was making up the worst possible scenarios, it forced you to bring a hand to your mouth and chew at your nails. When Kyle caught wind of this, he did a double-take, wrinkling his nose in distaste "When did you start biting your nails?"

"I'm not biting my nails, I'm sucking nicotine traces out of my fingertips," you answer before going back in, tenfold, almost mauling your hands, seeking the sweet release of dopamine that you had grown accustomed to.

"That's disgusting," Kyle turns his attention back ahead of him like he needs to stay alert "You do have an addiction, that's why Cartman gives you shit."

"You call it an addiction, I call it tradition, I rather smoke a cig than puff on a fucking light sabre handle," You thought of Marshall the night of the junior bonfire, how he had but three vapes in his mouth at one. Everyone was hyping him up but you couldn't shake the idea that he looked like he was blowing the sonic screwdriver.

"Still an addiction," He answers. The two of you fall silent until you go back to gnawing at your nails, "Okay, stop."

"Sorry, I'm fucking nervous that we're stranded out in the woods horror movie style and there's probably perverts roaming in here and waiting for me," You say, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

"We're not Hanzel and Gretel, pretty sure we don't have to worry about getting kidnapped on a biology trip."

"Yeah well, you wouldn't have to worry about getting kidnapped, look at the state of you." Your eyes rake up and down his body, a slight scowl on your face as you do so, feigning disgust at his appearance.

A flush creeps its way up Kyle's face he quickly averts his gaze so you can't see the red of his cheeks "Not sure if you realize but you're not hot shit yourself."

"Yeah, okay," You mutter, dodging the fact that every talking stage you've had for the past year has failed immensely. To your credit it wasn't because you were a repulsive person, it was because nothing felt right with any of them and you knew it was best to quit while you were ahead. It was like eating something sweet when you've been craving something spicy.

The forest seemed to conspire against you, its dense foliage and winding paths leading you deeper into the heart of the forest or just chasing you unknowingly in circles.

In the eery stillness of the woods, you suddenly became hyper-aware of all of Kyle's actions, his breathing, footsteps, and sighs, like you could sense the frustration growing in him the further you walked and got nowhere.

"Okay, we're lost." He finally admits, his voice exasperated.

You disregard what he said "Why did you run after me?" You look at him, asking the question that had been nagging at you like a child prodding for candy "Like, that's super weird."

"Not really, it's the buddy system." He shrugs you off, going back to the initial topic "We need to focus on getting out of here."

"Buddy system?" You raise an eyebrow "That's the gayest shit I've ever witnessed."

"You were at the women's national rugby championship."

Knowing that he had got you in a corner you opt to change the topic once again "How are we supposed to focus on getting out of here?" You ask "It's not like a high-security vault, it's a forest, all we can do is walk unless you can call for the cavalry."

"I don't have service," He answers.

"Don't you have an SOS network for emergencies?"

"This is not an emergency," He tucks his phone back into his pocket, it was running low on battery as Kenny had borrowed his portable charger and never returned it "I'm not calling 911 unless one of us is dying or we're still out here by night."

"Then I guess we're walking or alternatively we can scream until someone finds us."

"Don't do that-

"Help!" You cup your hands around your mouth, shouting to no one in particular "Kyle's going insane, he's trying to kill me!"

"Oh my god," He pinches his nose bridge "Shut the hell up."

"If you have such an issue with me why don't you flap your big ass dumbo ears and fly away?"

"Fuck you," He retorts. There was the signature bite of his cheek, the telltale sign that you were beginning to creep under his skin.

"Fuck you," You counter, mimicking him before trudging ahead.

"You have some goddamn issues," He mutters under his breath, not caring whether you could hear him or not.

"Yeah, I do have a lot of issues like why are there always crumbs in my bed when I never eat in it?" Absentmindedly, you had raised your voice without even realizing you were doing so. It was a natural progression between you and Kyle, it was the next piece of the formula that always ended in a massive shit show.

Kyle tries to ignore this completely, shutting his mouth and clenching his fist so tightly that he is near breaking the soft skin of his palm. "Why does every conversation end with you screaming?"

"Because you're a fucking asshole." You shoot back, taking hasty steps to side away from him to further yourself even more. As childish as it was, you couldn't be mature around Kyle or in general. You surely annoyed yourself as much as you annoyed others.

"No, not just me, you scream at everyone," He says "Why did you have to lose it at Cartman?"

"No shot you're defending Cartman, did hear the shit he was saying?"

"Yeah, he's a dick but did you need to hit him?"

"He needs to learn somehow," You shrug. "I don't know why you're acting so high and mighty, you hit him."

"Yeah, in ninth grade."

"You're a dick."

"And you're an idiot who ate fish from a gas station and gave herself food poisoning, I heard you bitching to Wendy about it the entire bus ride," Kyle's brow furrowing deeply as a simmering frustration bubbled to the surface. His normally composed demeanour cracked, revealing the raw edges of his discontent that pulsed beneath the surface like molten lava.

"Okay well it looked good and I was hungry don't act like you didn't eat the stray burrito from 7/11 on that road trip in ninth grade, you threw up out the window of my dad's car and it was all down the side and really fucking gross and we had to pull over and clean the car with wet wipes and your clothes were in you parents car with our brothers so you had to wear my Greta Thunberg tee shirt until we got to Montana."

"That wasn't from the burrito, it was because we ran out of Gravol and you know I get car sick."

"Yeah and you know that I get hungry, who cares?" Your voice goes up an octave "Why are you acting like you had a gun to your head and you were forced to track me down?"

His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles working overtime to suppress the torrent of words poised on the tip of his tongue. Everything he wanted to say he swallowed back, never to leave his mouth. Kyle gritted his teeth in a silent display of defiance, you took this as a sign that the argument was coming to a close. "You're so annoying and you wonder why you're lonely."

"I'm not lonely," Your posture was rigid and tense, your voice lingering with desperation. You rather just tie the noose for yourself than admit that you care what he thinks about you.

"Okay." He says, short.

"I'm not," You insinuate trying to plead your hopeless case "There's a difference between being alone and being lonely, I'm happy being alone."

"You're definitely not happy."

"How?" You ask "How would you know that? We talk once a blue moon."

"You never go out, you smoke all the time, you ignore your friends, you hardly talk to your family, you hate every show you watch, you don't even like eating anymore because smoking is ruining your tastebuds-

"At least I have more friends than fingers on one fucking hand."

"At least my friends like me." His lips twitched with agitation.

"My friends like me," You counter his statement. Maybe you should have moved to Los Angeles, the city of liars and frauds, surely you would get along great with coked-up directors who thrive in delusion and believe everything they say is more profound than anything Socrates has ever written.

"From what Bebe was saying, it doesn't sound like it."

"Yeah? Well, Bebe's a fucking cunt," You missed her more than anything but she seemed absolutely fine without you. You kept coming across videos that you wanted to send her or funny things you wanted to tell her until reality popped back up and reminded you that she didn't like you anymore.

"You can't just call people who don't like you cunts,"

"Just did, cunt." You snark "Why do you have a fucking file on me?"

"Weston tells me, I guess you're the family bummer now," He shrugs.

"How?" You have an ajar smile on your face, and wide eyes, trying not to show that something inside of you had, bent, cracked, and then broken entirely "I'm only seventeen." You found it hard to believe that you were the blue in your family tree while you had at least three alcoholic uncles, one of them living off welfare.

"When's the last time you've sat down to eat dinner with the family?"

"What?"

"Your brother told me you always skip dinner with them to eat by yourself," Kyle says. You weren't aware that Weston had been reporting your shortcomings to the ginger

"That's not really your business."

"Kinda is." He moves a tree branch out of the way of his lanky frame "Your parents are worried, they think you're on drugs."

Apparently, he knew more about your family than you did, not that this had particularly surprised you, it just made you feel guilty like an outsider looking in. Though guilt was no purifier, it didn't make your lack of self any less unsettling.

"Okay, I get it, I know I'm shitty but you're no prize either," You say, abruptly. "Let's discuss the global political and economic situation." You mock him, speaking in a deeper voice to mimic the ginger "And the fucking cyber security issues, you're a buzzkill man, no matter where you are or who you're with."

"Those are actually important things," The vein in his forehead was prominent, almost cartoonishly protruding "You have eighty viruses on your laptop from pirating Sims 4 mods. Data brokers are stealing your information, you know that, right?"

"I don't give a shit if they steal my data, there's nothing worthwhile there, it's just pictures of pigeons," You cross your arms as you walk "See, just now, how you shat on me for playing the Sims?"

A deep sigh escaped his lips, a sigh tinged with exasperation as he struggled to compose himself in the face of mounting aggravation. "I'm not shitting on you for playing the Sims, I'm pointing out how you're committing a crime, downloading something without paying for it is a crime, you're a criminal."

"Boo, you're a buzzkill."

"Better than being in denial," He answers. "There's no way that you're a seventeen-year-old chain smoker and you're genuinely happy," Kyle had brought the conversation full circle, pulling back to you.

"Have you walked around this fucking town? There's no one here who's happy either." Whatever you were feeling, it felt shitty like every inch of your bones were covered with dirt and mildew that could never be cleaned.

Your statement had truth beneath it, everyone in South Park carried themselves with a bit of sadness as if they had grown past the stages of ignorance. Though you were unhappy, you were far from the only one and nothing if not desolate.

"Thanks for being a douche, this has been a lot of fun but could you kindly get off my dick now?" You say, jaw tensing as you ignore the aching behind your eyelids.

"I'm not on your-" Kyle's speaking abruptly ceased, his face contorting in discomfort as he clutched his stomach and stopped in his tracks. You stopped as well, watching his face that moments ago was full of irritation morphing into something like fear.

"Uh, you okay?" Your voice was dripping with concern, observing him as he took laboured breaths, a sense of unease washed over you. Your heart raced with alarm as you recognized the telltale signs of a hypoglycemic episode, mind racing through the steps you had been taught to help Kyle in situations like these.

Kyle's response was barely a whisper, his words slurred and disjointed as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. His complexion was pale, a stark contrast to the tan he had been developing with summer oncoming, as he swayed unsteadily on his feet. He leaned against a tree trying to secure his footing before he dazily dropped to the ground, his back depending on the tree to keep him sitting up.

Instinctively, you looked around for someone to help, of course, you were left in an unnerving silence. "It's okay, we're cool, you're fine," You mutter, more comfort to yourself as you shed your backpack and move to kneel next to Kyle.

Moving with haste you yank his bag off, harsher than preferred. "Don't die, asshole," You urged softly, your voice shaking in the slightest. You reached into his bag, retrieved a small pouch containing glucose tablets, and quickly administered them to Kyle, urging him to chew slowly and swallow.

As the glucose tablets took effect, you could've sworn Kyle's colour began to return, the pallor fading from his cheeks as his blood sugar levels stabilized. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm as the immediate threat passed.

Just as you began to breathe a sigh of relief, Kyle's eyes fluttered closed, his body going limp in your arms as he slumped against you. Panic surged through your veins like a tidal wave as you realized that he had lost consciousness. The brief moment of ease was axed in the head and replaced with an even more dire situation.

You snatch his canvas backpack once again, rummaging around for it, after four seconds of not finding what you need you dump the contents onto the ground. Your fingers fumbled with nervous energy as you retrieved an emergency glucagon injection, praying that it would be enough to bring Kyle back from the brink.

In your seventeen years of enmity, you had seen Kyle go through a good bit of complications due to his diabetes though there had always been one of your parents around to help and on a once-off occasion during a middle school assembly, Stan was on the case. You had never had his life in your hands, you made the decision between his life and comatose.

Your mom and dad had sat you down on several occasions to teach you explicitly what to do, you hadn't quite realized the significance until his unconscious body was flaccid over your lap. The hatred you had for him was momentarily pushed aside until he was okay enough to yell at you again.

With trembling hands, you lifted his shirt to expose the raw flesh of his abs. Taking a steadying breath you administered the injection, plunging the needle into Kyle's stomach. You watched with bated breath as the medication took effect, you knew it wouldn't be instant though part of you expected him to shoot back up the second the needle stuck into his skin.

No idea what you are supposed to do next you reach deep into the pocket of his jeans and pull out his phone. The screen was black and unmoving, just as yours was. You toss the phone to your side, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes to press back the overwhelming feeling that fought to spill.

Taking a deep breath and wiping away any remnants of stress that were thrashing to consume you entirely, you move two fingers beneath his jawline to check for a pulse. You had been thinking back to your first aid class from tenth grade PE, what your grouchy teacher had tried to ingrain in your head.

His chest held an unsteady rise and fall and for split seconds between rational thoughts snuck in the idea that this might be it for him. Gingerly, you turn him onto his side, propping his right knee forward so he won't roll onto his stomach.

With care, you had resituated him into the recovery position that Mrs. Jackson had drilled into memory the year prior. You pushed yourself off the ground, pacing back and forth, hands tucked into your armpits, hugging yourself.

You flinched at the slightest sound, eyes quickly shifting to the source just for it to be a bird or the rustle of branches. "Kyle, if you die, that's going to fuck up both of our families for a really long time and I'll probably have to go to therapy which is so boring," You speak to his unconscious body like he's going to respond.

"You're seriously such a fucking loser if you die right now, so not cool," Part of you wanted to sprint away for help but you knew you likely wouldn't find a way out before Kyle regained consciousness and you didn't want to risk losing him entirely.

Your voice was shaking, your lip trembling and each breath coming out wobbly like you were about to faint yourself. That uneasy feeling had settled in your stomach for the second time that day "Dude, you might be ruining my life right now."

Of course, he was unresponsive and the only thing offering you any form of solace was the sound of his breathing, ever so faintly heard through the whispering between trees. With each passing second that he didn't wake up you grew more nervous, leaning on a tree, eyes narrowing in on his limp body for any movement.

If he did survive, he desperately needed to update his glucose monitor. You didn't like him, but that didn't mean you wanted him to die, you just never wanted to hear from him again. You bit your lip until you tasted blood, a desperate attempt to stifle the scream building in your throat, trapped behind a dam of unspoken words and unshed tears. You refused to cry over Kyle, especially when he was alive and breathing. "I think I hate you," You mutter so quietly that it almost gets blown away by the wind.

Kyle stirred, gagging with his mouth closed, eyelids still heavy. "Oh my fucking god," You drop your hands to your side in relief and bound towards him, crouching down to his level. His eyelids fluttered open, still, Kyle's body convulsed with gags as his hands clamoured for the trunk of the tree and your bicep harshly to pull him back up.

Eventually, with choked and shallow breath Kyle lurched forward and wretched, partially onto the ground, partially onto you. Bits of the greenish bile splash onto your clothing. Quickly you scrambled away, fighting the urge to upheave again as you look at the contents spilled onto your clothes.

Instead of coughing up your guts, you scrunch up your nose and hand him the black water bottle that had been dumped onto the ground with the rest of his belongings. At least the two of you were even now.

Repose washed over you when his sharp shallow breaths turned deep and steady. He rinsed his mouth out with water, eyes studying you where you were backing to sifting through his pile of belongings, while his chest rose and fell with every breath of air. His hands were trembling to the point that water almost splashed from the mouth of his bottle with how much he was rocking it.

There hadn't been much vomit on you though you still avoided breathing in through your nose to avoid the putrid smell. Wordlessly you move to grab his hand which he quickly retracts "What are you doing?"

"What do you think? You fucking idiot," You say, lancet pen in hand with a fresh needle inserted to prick his finger "You just threw up on me so don't be a bitch and give me your hand."

With a slight flush to his face, he held his hand out which you took. His fingers were cold to the touch, you took his ring finger and rubbed it between your thumb and index to warm it up and get some blood flow going. The both of you didn't look at one another, just where the skin of your hands connected as you massaged his finger with a hyper-focus.

When the skin of his ring finger was no longer cold against yours you quickly swabbed it down with a rubbing alcohol towelette that had been tucked into the emergency kit Sheila had sewn for Kyle, the fabric had strawberries with smiley faces on it.

Your eyes shifted for a brief moment to the silver medical emergency bracelet on his wrist that you gripped to steady his hand before you stuck the needle of the lancet into his finger. He flinched just the slightest. Kyle was used to using the glucometer on himself, he stopped having his mother do it completely when he reached sixth grade, there were a few times when Kenny and Stan did it out of pure curiosity but at this moment he had been shaking too much and didn't have much to stable himself on aside from trees and the grubby forest floor.

After applying gentle pressure you removed the lancer, inserted a new test strip into the glucometer and held it to the dribble of blood pooled on the pad of his finger like cherry juice. Watching the crimson soak into the test strip, you place it in his hand and rise to your feet.

Instead of watching his blood sugar level on the glucometer, Kyle was watching you riffle through your backpack and pull out what looked to be a change of clothes. He couldn't think of a time where you had ever been that gentle with him, even if you called him a bitch.

You glance back at him, gaze hardening when you see him staring directly at you. "Turn around, gay-ass, I need to change into my gym strip."

Without saying anything, Kyle awkwardly shifts the body to face the other direction. He keeps his gaze focused downwards on the glucometer watching it settle at the number 81. He was in the clear for now.

"Hey, so-uh, are you okay enough to earth it?" You ask as you peel your layers of clothing off, compulsively gagging at the sour smell, you can't help it. 

"Earth it?" He furrows his eyebrows, still staring at his blood sugar level like he is analyzing it "What the hell does that mean?"

"I dunno," you say, continuing to strip down until you're left in nothing but undergarments, trying not to shudder with each gust of wind. "Just earth it, like Coyote Peterson, y'know? Be a man and rub some dirt in it."

"Are trying to ask me if I can walk?" Absent-mindedly his free hand reached for the sore spot in his abdomen where he assumed you had put the empty injection needle that now landed discarded next to its container.

"Yeah."

"Then just ask that."

"Woah what's with all this attitude after I saved your life," You shimmy into a pair of biker shorts that were intended for the soccer practice you had to miss that day.

Begrudgingly Kyle said, "Thank you." Though it was so quiet he wasn't even sure you would hear it. His head was pounding, it felt like someone was inside of his skull and beating it with a sledgehammer. “And, yeah, I can walk, just give me a minute.”

You were a little taken aback that he actually thanked you. You were just being a dick when you brought up rescuing him from comatose, in your head this was just something that the two of you would never bring up again. Without knowing what to say, you pretend that you didn't hear him and instead reach for a clean shirt.

"What are you doing?!" A voice cut through the growing silence. Immediately both you and Kyle look to see Mr. Waterman standing with Wendy. Mr. Waterman had turned around and covered his eyes the moment he saw you shirtless while Wendy's gaze shot between you and Kyle wildly. "Put some clothes on right now!" 

At the very least it was nice to know someone had been looking for you.

#kyle broflovski #south park #kyle south park #south park x reader #south park x y/n #stan marsh #eric cartman #kenny mccormick #bebe stevens #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle broflovski angst #kyle brovlofski #sp kyle #south park kyle #kyle broflovski fluff #clyde donovan #tweek tweak #wendy testaburger

[finelinevogue]

can you write about harry helping reader cope with really bad anxiety ?

this is going to be based off the anxiety that i’m more aware of, but i appreciate that it’s different for everyone and i apologise if it isn’t accurate to you <33

The world felt like it was about to end.

It was as if the sky was pushing in to the ground and decompressing you and your lungs. It was like the ground was about to swallow you whole and your legs were too glued to save yourself. There was this heaviness on your shoulders that weighed as much as a car, sinking you until you drowned. You were afraid that you wouldn’t be able to overcome this feeling.

You stood to the side of the stage with shaky hands, holding your script tight. People moved all around you, rushing to make sure everything was in place backstage for the on stage, completely ignoring you. It was as if you were invisible, so much so that someone actually bumped into you and didn’t even apologise. It made you feel quite insignificant and only boosted your mentality for not being able to do this.

You were at a competition, see. A poetry competition.

Harry had encouraged you, about a month ago now to be brave and enter yourself in for this competition. It was called ‘Prized Poetry’ and it was a huge thing in London, where poetry laureates such as Carol Ann Duffy and Simon Armitage have performed before - and now he was a judge too. You’d had to submit an entry form at first, explaining why you should be given the chance to enter the competition. Harry had spent hours going over it with you, perfecting to the every syllable. You’d gotten through, obviously with your talent, and made it to the first stage. Then the second stage, third, fourth and now fifth. The fifth and final stage.

Your previous poems were a mixture of long sad poems, haiku poems and even a short story just to see how well your talent for writing really was. You’d passed with flying colours every single time and you couldn’t have done it without Harry. He was there for every late night, with a cup of tea or a second opinion, you spent changing and tweaking your work. He was there with flowers after every single performance, after he’d spent the entire show watching you with awe. Every single time he’d cried. Every single time he’d kissed you with pride. Every single time he came. Not today, though.

Unfortunately, for you and for Harry, he was in New York doing some press for a jewellery brand that he was the new face of. He had called you last night, explaining that he didn’t know whether he’d be able to make it or not. He couldn’t face-time you though, because seeing the disappointment on your face would have killed him inside and he was selfish for that.

“Hello!” You excitedly shouted to him down the phone.

“Hi, baby.” Harry replied, his tone of voice sounding quite flat in comparison to yours.

“Uh oh. Someone’s sounding sad.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, before breathing a deep sigh. You just knew he was stroking a stressed hand through his fluffy hair, with his eyebrows furrowed too and all you wanted to do was kiss them away.

“What’s up, sunshine?” You asked, hoping the little nickname would help him feel a bit more yellow.

“Y/N…” Well that wasn’t a good sign if he was calling you by your proper name, “I.. God I don’t know how to tell you this the right way…”

You knew. You had a feeling and you just knew. It had been a worry you’d had at the back of your mind ever since he got on the plane to leave for New York, but hoped that it wouldn’t ever become real. Unfortunately, that’s what it had come to.

“You can’t come tomorrow night, can you?” You asked quietly, your mood quite grey now. There was a little dark thunderstorm rolling in over your head and it would stay there until you could find some sunshine again - find some yellow.

“N-no. No I can’t.” Harry sighed heavily and it weighed upon your shoulders than probably his.

“O-okay.” You tried your best to not make him feel bad, because he was 4,000 miles away and you weren’t there to hug his cries away.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Truly. So sorry.”

“No it’s okay. It can’t be helped, you know?” You let out the slightest of chuckles to try and lighten the situation, but you felt so heavy and grey.

“But you’re going to be amazing. I just know it. We’ve practiced it so many times and your poem is just stunning, there’s no way they can’t like it.” Harry tried his attempt at cheering you up, knowing all the doubts that were creeping into your mind in that moment. He wished he could hug you, because then at least that would mean he was there with you and ready to take a seat in an audience that he was sure you were going to win the competition of.

“Thank you.” You smiled, only slightly.

“I love you, Y/N.” Harry reminded you, almost terrified that this would somehow make you un-love him and leave him. You could never. Would never.

“And I love you, H.” You meant it.

“Get some rest now, okay? I’ll call you before your performance tomorrow, alright?”

He hadn’t called.

Your eyes started to tear up at the thought of him not being here. You couldn’t do this without him. You didn’t know how to.

Anxiety is something that you’ve suffered with for a very long time, but managed to overcome facing different situation. It always felt like the world was about to end, for you. It was an unstoppable feeling, unless Harry was there. Harry had this aura around him that brought you peace and calm. He made you feel easy and powerful. He was the reason that you’d gotten this far in the competition, because you would always know he was in the crowd watching you - feeding you his power and making you brave.

Your lungs ached at the thought of you being powerless today. There was no being brave today. No Harry, that was the worst factor of all. Not only did you need him here to remind you that you were alright, but you wanted him to be here. This was such a big thing for you to be doing and you’d love for someone to watch and be proud of you. Your parents were never going to be those people and you were lucky that you had Harry instead. Only, now it felt like you didn’t.

“Y/N, you’re on next.” A man with a clipboard and a headset spoke to you and brought you away from your shaking thoughts.

“O-oh okay.” Your eyes were wide with terror and your hands shook a little more. You had taken some pills to calm you down, before, but your anxiety was that bad that you felt at any moment your knees would crumble underneath you and be victorious on showing how powerless you were without Harry - without someone to support you and be proud of you.

“Our next talent is a woman who has inspired us all with her writing. Her scores have been the best in the competition so far, but will she able to actually hold up that trophy by the end of the night?” No, you thought, as the man on stage introduced you to the audience of 500 and the judges.

He walked off and gave you the thumbs up to walk on. Your legs needed a bit of persuading to actually move, but once you were anyone could tell that they were shaking nerves. Your body language gave away that you were completely out of your element and that this wasn’t easy for you. The spotlight on the stage blinded you and you found it hard to actually see anyone in the audience, let alone the judging panel.

There was a podium where you would stand and perform your piece, so you walked over to it, tripping slightly on the step up. Bloody heels. You felt like everyone was laughing at you then, your head swarming with all kinds of whispers they would be chattering;

‘What is she doing up there when she can’t even walk without shaking?’ ‘Is she really worthy of all these high scores?’ ‘She looks nervous.’ ‘Why is she even here if she can’t stop her hands from shaking?’

One of the judges cleared their throat in the microphone before talking. “Miss L/N, you know the rules. No prompts or paper with poetry.”

His tone made you blush and tears creeped into your eyes. You were so stupid to have brought your poem with you. Your hands shook as you didn’t know what to do with it. You felt so exposed up here, as if people in the back row could hear your heart about to beat, beat, beat out of your chest. Your throat felt dry and you just didn’t know what to do.

You wanted Harry.

“S-sorry.” You stuttered out, sounding so unsure of yourself which probably didn’t look good in a speaking competition for your poetry.

“Someone please come take Miss L/Ns paper please?” The same judge asked and then you saw someone run over to your side to collect the paper.

“Be brave.”

You turned as the touch of the persons hand kissed against your skin, electrifying your body like a tree on Christmas day.

He was here. Harry was here.

The tears in your eyes grew, but Harry quickly shook his head as if to tell you ‘not now’. So you breathed a deep breathe and smiled so brightly at him. He was here. He was in front of you, or more accurately to the side of the stage. God knows what stunt he pulled to get to be there, but you didn’t care. You swore you’d never loved someone more than in this moment. He ran off quickly, taking your paper with you and sticking his thumbs up at you as he fled.

You got to admire him for a brief moment. He was in a black non-fitted suit, with a white wife-beater shirt on underneath and then his old-school vans. He was in his travelling outfit. He loved being comfortable, but keeping a decent sense of fashion, when he was travelling cross countries. Your favourite pair of shoes were vans too so he often said that he wore them because they reminded him of you.

“Are we ready now, Miss L/N?” A judge asked, bringing your attention back to the audience when Harry nodded your head determinedly at you. You faced the audience, rolling back your shoulders and clenching then unclenching your fists. You felt lighter. Freer. You could, well… you could do this.

“Yes, I am.” You spoke much more confidently than before. You had to squint a little, but you could tell that the judges were smiling at you. Your heart felt a little more full at that. There was a sense of pride for you, even before you began.

“Okay, when you’re ready. Introduce yourself and your poem, but please wait before reciting the actual piece.” A woman judge explained. You could tell the audience has settled into their seats more, watching you with beady eyes.

Be brave.

“Thank you.” You nodded to the judges, before beginning. “Good evening all! My name is Y/N L/N and the piece of writing I have chosen to share with you tonight is called ‘Anxiety’. I wanted to choose this piece because it means something of significance to me. I have suffered with anxiety for some time and yet it feels new and stronger every time that I experience it. It’s that shadow that follows your everywhere, even when there’s light. The topic that our short written poetry had to be based on, for those of you whom had forgotten or had just woken up from a nap through the other acts,” that earned you a laugh you weren’t expecting and it made you a little less nervous, so you started to be more expressive in yourself, “was called ‘you’. For such a short word, there’s so much to unpack, especially about myself. So I decided to unpack how I feel about my anxiety, because although it may look a very small part of me from the outside it’s such a huge part of me on the inside and I would like to share that with you tonight. I would like for you to see my shadows.”

The audience clapped, even though they weren’t really supposed to. You briefly looked to the side and saw that Harry was shaking his head in awe of you. Probably because you hadn’t told him that you had changed what poem you were going to perform. The ones you’d worked on with him had been about courage and strength, but you didn’t seem to click with it even after weeks of practice. This, however, you’d written from heart, last night only, whilst having an panic attack when reality hit you that Harry wouldn’t be with you.

“Thank you Miss L/N. Give us a moment please.” They went quiet and you stopped to breathe for a moment, taking in the air of the theatre. It smelt like old wooden staircases and freshly painted walls. It felt snug and comforting. “And when you’re ready, the stage is all yours.”

Be brave.

You gave one glance at Harry and a simple smile was all you needed.

“The world is ending, I can feel it. The crushing weight of the world is burying me deeper, caging me until I can no longer breathe. The walls are closing in, faster and faster. With everyday i’m away from you, they close faster. I’m suffocating, but you still hear me breathing. I’m terrified, but you calm me. I’m alone, but you still hold my hand. Trapped, oh what an isolated feeling but you, i’ll always have you and suddenly the world keeps on spinning.”

It took a moment, but when the roars of the audience applauded you couldn’t help but freeze. You cried. Your heart sung happy songs. You nodded your head too thank them all silently, because you couldn’t quite get the words out anymore. You’d shown your shadows and people stood to remind you that you weren’t alone in having them.

You turned to see Harry and he was clapping just like everyone else, whistling through the use of his fingers - which, you’d be lying if it didn’t turn you on slightly. He mouthed ‘I love you’ and you nodded your head whilst the tears dripped from your eyes, letting him know that you knew and you very much felt the same way.

The other poets came and joined you on stage, seeing as you were the last act. There were only 3 of you and you’d watched the other two perform. They had been wonderful. One of them had performed a piece about love and the other about their children; both so sweet and loving, so passionate and comforting. So different to yours. Yours had been heavy and moving, exposing and sad, but it was you and that’s what you’d been asked to be.

“What a brilliant show, aye?” The presented walked on stage and let the audience clap together momentarily.

You stood the far right of the stage, further away from Harry who was in the left-wing. The other two poets, Henry and Silvia, were standing in line with you - Henry in the middle. He had spoken about his children and Silvia about love. They both congratulated you as they walked onstage and you smiled and thanked both of them. You couldn’t stop thinking about how desperate you were to see Harry again though. That one simple touch had left you burning for more ever since and you’d be dammed if you didn’t have him near you again within the next 10 minutes.

“Let’s hear from what the judges thought. Tracey?”

“Absolutely beautiful, all of you. Your introductions were great and your poems even better. I think for me, Henry, your poem stood our the most to me just because I have children also so I can relate to a lot of the moments and feelings you touched upon. Very well done.” Tracey spoke and you smiled because she was right, Henry’s piece had been so moving and simple. It was spectacular and you’re sure his kids would be proud of him.

“Yvonne?” The presenter turned to the next judge.

“Well the competition has seriously shown us some talent like no other this year. I don’t think we’ve ever had this higher standard before, so pat on the back to all of you. Um, Henry, wonderful poem and really heart-warming. Silvia, your poem was awe-inspiring and i’m so glad you had the chance to share that with us. And Y/N, thank you for what you did tonight.” You smiled and nodded a thanks back to Yvonne, her words meaning a lot more than a few adjectives of praise.

“Finally, Simon?”

“Couldn’t agree with the other two more. I think that you’re all credits to yourselves and you should be proud of yourselves. One person touched my heart a little more than the others this evening and I silently thank them for that. Some seriously stunning performances and yeah, i’m excited to see what the future holds for them.” Simon answered, looking at Silvia as he spoke, so it was clear that it was her work that had touched his heart.

It made you grow very nervous, however.

Each other the judges had said their praise, but had praised the other two poets slightly more so than you. It gave you a unnerving pit-belly feeling that you hadn’t done enough - that maybe you should’ve stuck to your other poem with Harry. Why had you changed it last minute? You gulped back the lump in your throat and looked down at your feet, not feeling brave enough to look up at the audience or judges anymore. You’d done your part and it didn’t feel like it was enough. You just hoped that you hadn’t let Harry down too badly.

“And now I think we should announce our winner.” The presenter announced, making the audience ooh and aah. You started to fiddle with your fingers, picking the skin around your nails to keep you grounded. You closed your eyes and kept your head down, not wanting anyone to see your disappointment when your name comes last in the ranks when you should really be happy for the other two. You’d put your heart on the line tonight, but maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe you had to be something more - something special.

Someone walked on with the award trophies and envelopes. The third place holder got a gift voucher to Waterstones of £50 and a small bronze trophy. The second place holder got a gift voucher to Waterstones of £100, a stationary items to help continue to write and a silver trophy. The third place holder got a gold trophy, obviously, but the other prize was far more worthy; a definite publication of your own poetry book via Simon Armitage’s publication company - something you’d dreamt of forever.

“In third place…” You closed your eyes a little tighter and whispered internally to yourself ‘be brave’ until you would actually believe yourself. You couldn’t get that far though because, “Silvia Fallon.”

What? You hadn’t come last? What? Your eyes opened and you turned to watch Silvia accept her award and applaud her with the congratulations she deserved. Wow, you couldn’t believe that you weren’t holding a bronze trophy and a waterstones gift card right now. Silver it was then!

“In second place…” You rubbed your hands on your dress, de-clamming them before you’d have to walk over to the presenter to shake his hand and double kiss his cheeks. As you smiled out the audience, “Henry Lucas.”

What.

Your heart had stopped beating. You weren’t walking over to collect silver. No. You were cupping your hand over your mouth, shaking like a leaf in the wind and knees about to crumble beneath you as you realised what this all meant. What you’d achieved.

“So that means our winner of Prized Poetry 2021 is Y/N L/N!” You sank down to the floor, crouching over yourself as you started to cry and cry.

Was this really happening?

Warm hands brought you out of your shell, cupping the side of your head to bring your attention to them. To him.

“You won, baby. You fucking won!” He smiled so brightly at you that you could’ve sworn he was just a visual dream. You were shaking in his hold and still crying, his eyes red too over your deserved success.

“I-I won…” You spoke in shakily disbelief.

“I’m not kissing you until you go collect your prize, petal, so please go and chuffing collect your prize!” He laughed, and helped you onto your feet. You were a little shaky, because all eyes were on you once again, but you deserved this. You hadn’t expected this at all so you were also just a bit taken aback by this whole experience. The journey had been far greater than anything before it.

Harry’s hand left yours and you walked across the stage to shake hands with the presenter and the judges, who had now come up on stage to congratulate you all. You thanked each one of them, twice, and held up your trophy in the air as you walked back across stage.

As soon as you met Harry he didn’t hesitate to bring you in for that promised kiss. You didn’t care about the call last night anymore. You didn’t care about him not being here today. He was here now and that was more than enough to seal your heart with forgiveness. It was moments like this, his lips enveloping yours, when you were brought to the realisation of how yellow your world was. There was no grey with him. He, just like you were to him, was your yellow and that was a privilege to be. Your Harry made you feel so much more than a shadow. He made you feel brave. Protected. Calm.

Loved.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #finelinevogue #finelinevogue harry styles #harry blurb #harry oneshot #harry styles concept #harry styles poetry #harry styles fluff #finelinevogue blurbs #ask finelinevogue #ask harry styles #anon response #anon #finelinevogue masterlist #harry styles angst #harry styles anxiety #harry styles x poet!reader #harry styles competition #harry styles comfort #finelinevogue harry styles masterlist

[naokow]

Get Free

 summary:  I want to get off, but I keep riding the ride, I never really noticed that I had to decide, to play someone's game, or live my own life.

warnings: angst, manipulating behaviour from eren, female reader (i’m sorry i didn’t make the reader genderless), cursing, smoking, drinking. let me know if i should add something else.

word count: 2.8k

A/N: so let me know if it sucked, pls, thank you. also, English is not my first language, so there can be mistakes pls tell me where my dumb ass was wrong

The hand on the waist was the final nail in the coffin for you.

How dare he dance with another girl. How dare he smile at her, how dare he ignore you and act like you weren't there, too.

"This is just pitiful," Marleen snorted, finishing half of her drink in a sip as she watched the same scene unfolding in the living room, those two uncaring of everyone else, like they were throwing it in your face.

You hummed, not really in the mood for taunts and half assed advices. "Which part?"

Marleen finished her drink and threw the cup over her shoulder, over the improvised bar the frat boys did last year with wood panels and boxes. It landed in the kitchen, someone yelling at the brunette as it nearly missed him.

 "You. Honestly, for the last time, you need to—"

Frowning, you tensed and turned to glare at her, only to stop staring at the dance floor. "Honestly, Marleen, for the last time, I'm not fucking Jean to get over Eren."

She raised her hands in mock surrender, taking the half empty bottle of beer from your loosened grasp. "Doesn't have to be Jean, pal."

Groaning, throwing your head back dramatically, you couldn't find it in yourself to debate this subject, again.

Not that it mattered. Not like it was supposed to be a fun night at a frat house. Not like you made a fuss about it, dressed in your best leather pants and top, tattoos on display.

Not like you actually tried a bolder look with the cat like eyeliner and actually put on lip gloss, because you knew Eren liked those, said once your lips were pretty like that, coated with too much cherry glitter—

No, it didn't matter, not even as you sat there, feeling stupid as you pulled at your snake bites, wondering if you should get drunk or just go back to your dorm and complain to Annie.

But the blonde was at the party, too, somewhere among the crowd and probably sulking just as you, if you were to guess after seeing Armin with some junior chick an hour ago.

Marleen pushed herself away from the counter, losing her balance as she fell from the chair, but you saw it coming. Rolling your eyes, you caught her arm and steadied her.

Marleen grinned as you let her go, and seized your bicep, squeezing it three times, like a grandmother would with her grandchildren's cheeks.

"God, I love your muscles."

You loved them, too, but often found yourself wondering if Eren would pick you if you looked different, like the pretty, thin brunette wrapped around him on the dance floor.

God, how much can someone dance?

"Anyway," Marleen sighed, fake annoyance and all that, "Someone has to fuck Jean."

You snorted, "Poor you, volunteering like that for society."

She waved you off, pushing your now empty beer bottle into your chest as she left your side with her arms in the air, waving franatically to catch Jean's attention from his seat on the couch, where Connie was trying to explain something with his fingers.

Putting the bottle behind you on the counter, you tried to stop yourself from looking at him. What good did it do to—

He was gripping her waist, his large hands, clad in rings you got for his last birthday, covering her exposed skin. Her arms were in his hair as he bent to say something in her ear—

No, you noticed, he was kissing her neck and she was grinning sideways at Eren.

Scoffing, you tugged at one of the pierces in your nose. You should know better by now, Marleen once chided after cleaning your face off, ruined make up almost dried on your cheeks.

He knows, Annie scolded from beside you two in the small public bathroom after Eren ruined karaoke night and brought his new girlfriend.

He knows you love him and doesn't care. So do yourself a favour and move on.

Yeah, you watch Eren laugh at something the girl said, move on from the crush you had on him since you were sixteen and his hair was still short and he was crying over his parents' divorce.

Sure, move on and forget all the times you helped him, picked the pieces and put him first. Like he did, all those years going down the drain ever since the school year started and he barely acknowledged you.

"You look like shit," someone took the seat next to you, and you sighed before accepting the offered red solo cup.

"Feel like it, too," you looked at Levi snorting as he sipped on his beer. He looked like he just got out of bed.

Right, you scowled at yourself. You've been so busy preparing to let Eren walk all over you, that you forgot that Levi lived in the frat house that hosted the party.

Hange was talking Erwin's ears off, but he smiled and waved at you from where he stood close to the oven, once you looked over your shoulder to inspect who was there. Hange imitated his gesture without turning to see who, exactly, they were saluting.

Levi ignored them altogether, hair disheveled from his twitching fingers. He probably had a nap, you guessed, from the simple black shirt and jeans. Most likely got dragged down from his room by Zeke, or someone.

You knew him well enough, since he bumped into you almost one year ago, in the parking lot where you were smoking, asking for a lighter. Sure, he ignored your bad mood since you walked over to class when Eren forgot to pick you up.

It was just one time.

It wasn't until many months later that he picked a habit of ditching you and your plans together.

Levi was older by two years, and so were his friends, but they took you under their wing almost immediately.

They were protective of you, especially Hange, but no one came close to Levi anytime Eren made you cry or upset you with anything.

Like now, as he glared at the place where you already knew Eren was having fun with the girl. But you chose to look at Levi, chin in the palm of your hand.

Finally, he turned to take you in, his eyes catching onto the fact that you wore the rings and choker he got for you over the last year, then the many earrings Hange and Erwin got you anytime you wanted another pierce.

"Well, you sure look worse than me," you smirked, but Levi frowned at your attempt.

"He did it again?"

You couldn't find it in yourself to get mad at his words, "He just forgot, is all."

Levi snorted, "He should get checked for that Alzheimer he's been sporting for the last months."

You hit his arm, barely touching him, and huffed. "Play nice."

To his credit, he left it at that and let the noise of the party fall over you, both nursing your drinks.

You pondered going to Hange to ask if you could crash over the night with them, knowing Marleen was busy and Annie probably left by now.

"Want to dance?"

Well, then.

Your eyebrows almost reached your hairline as your eyes found Levi's, "Huh?"

He didn't shrug, or rolled his eyes, simply putting down his bottle and staring at you. You didn't want to look over at the dance floor, or be near that sexual tension, but—

But Levi was trying, and you knew how much he despised the parties, or having to interact, or, God Almighty forbid, dance.

And he was asking if you wanted to, because he knew you liked the song that was playing before you even realized what song it was or that you've been moving your head along with the beat for the last minute.

But Eren was th—

You jumped from the bar stool, "Sure."

You were taller than Levi by some good inches, but that didn't bother him. It never did, not even when you made fun of it at game nights or that one time at the carnival when he was the only one to join you in the big rides.

It didn't bother him, not even now, as you let him put his hands on your bare waist and slightly gaze up at you.

Hands around his neck, you let your chin rest near his ear, "You dance like someone's grandpa."

You could only assume he scoffed as he moved his arms around and pushed you closer to his chest.

"That's how you're grandpa danced?"

You shrugged and let him move your hips to the beat, fingers lost in his hair. "Wouldn't know. He died before I was out, kicking and screaming for the last time in my life at my mom."

Levi shook his head at your words, used to your humour and thankful you couldn't see his smile as he put his forehead on your bare shoulder.

You found yourself forgetting about Eren for a while as Levi danced with you and touched your skin, fingers grazing sometimes over your back or spine.

Then he was lost to your mind altogether when Levi caught your eye and you tried to make sense of the look he was giving you.

Marleen said something about his stares, when you couldn't see him watching.

You wet your lips, and he watched your tongue swipe over the pierces. "What, Ackerman?"

He shrugged, "You hate lip glosses."

It was barely there after all the drinks, but the thin, shiny coat with that stupid glitter was noticable enough for Levi to glare at.

And you did, you did hate lip glosses when Levi's arms were around you like that and his hands didn't shy away at the feeling of your muscles like Eren once did, because, damn, what chick wants those abs?

"'m stupid, I know," you mumbled, head titled close to his ear, but he turned to look at you, not even dancing anymore as his mouth was so damn close to yours.

"Want me to buy you another lipstick? What was it, again? R—"

You laughed, and Levi smelt the juice and whiskey on your breath. "Red, yeah. Still don't know how you found that shade, it was so nice, and I finished it too fast."

Levi smirked a little, "Told you, it's a secret. How else am I gonna surprise you?"

You felt him around you, too real, too much, it consumed you, steadily, as his eyes wondered around on your features.

"You surprise me anyway, Ackerman."

He wet his lips, then frowned, having to remind himself you weren't there for him, that you were in that position only because you were hurting again and because he was stupid and reckless and—

"Take it off, please?"

Levi searched your eyes, "What?"

"The gloss crap. Take it off, please."

Levi's breath hitched. "Are you sure?"

You looked down at his lips, "Help me a little, Levi."

Damn you. Damn you and your beautiful face, that irresistible body and that personality and the fact that it made him fall hard. So hard he couldn't deny you, even if it hurt him.

Because you were still hang on Eren, waiting and suffering, uselessly prolonging the inevitable everyone knew its end, but you. 

But now you were in his arms and looking at him like he put the stars that formed those constellations you adored so much, on the sky.

Damn you, da—

He would never admit it hurt to press your lips to yours, to feel that cherry lip gloss first, then the punch as he probed at your mouth to get rid of that crap as you so nicely asked him to.

He hardly noticed how the pierces felt against his tongue, all lost to his mind as he gripped your hips tighter.

He would never admit it bothered him how your fingers played with his hair as you moved your face down and kissed him too roughly for his taste.

But it brought some satisfaction to glance over your shoulder at the shocked, angered Eren, his dance partner forgotten as he stared at his hands on your skin.

Good, it felt good. Even when Levi knew you would regret it the next day and go back to sulking over Eren.

But you brought his mouth back to yours and kept his face in your hands and made him ignore how much it hurt while he bruised your lips with too many kisses.

Levi tried to convince himself that things would finally be better, that it was the right move and he wasn't just a rebound. Maybe, if he kept telling himself that, he would believe it, too.

Even as you pecked his lips once, twice, stopped to gulp down breaths of air, like you just surfaced from water, like you've been drowning and finally, finally, you were free now.

But you stayed close, foreheads pressed against each other's while some stupid disco song started playing and Connie's excited yells surpassed even the stereo system.

You opened your mouth, and Levi wondered if he should be the first to say sorry.

"This is nice."

Flinching, you furrowed your brow and turned to look at Hange. They grinned, inches away from your face. Levi scoffed, and took one, two, fuck it—

He almost jumped away from you, putting space, almost making a statement. He glared at Hange.

"Is this our new secret handshake? I have to tell Erwin," they didn't wait, and you sighed as Hange bounced away to annoy Erwin for the millionth time that night.

You clicked your tongue, Hange forgot to tell you why they interrupted... Whatever that was with Levi, who was now rubbing his face in what you knew was annoyance.

Wetting your lips, and feeling no trace of cherry, made you feel worse than before.

"Right, I'm—"

Levi scoffed, hands back into his pockets as he already moved to walk past you. "Don't. I'm sure Jean would like to continue this."

You wondered why his words stung that much, because you were supposed to feel better after kissing someone. Because it was supposed to make you feel something else than sadness and constant self hatred.

Because—

Eren was making his way towards you, and Levi was already lost in the crowd before you could try to mend things. And say what, exactly? Nothing made sense anymore, your thoughts scattered all over the place because—

"What was that about?"

He was asking you, talking to you, and it didn't feel as good as you thought it would. Neither could bother to step aside, talk somewhere private, people still drinking and dancing around.

But why would Eren go somewhere private with you? It wasn't right. Nothing was feeling right as he glared down at you, at your swollen lips and flushed cheeks, that even the low light of the Christmas lights hanged around the walls couldn't hide.

"What?"

Sure, you were broken. Mind blank and fingers twitching to hold onto something.

Eren frowned, "What was that about, with Ackerman?"

You blinked at him. "I'm sorry?"

It wasn't the apology you almost shot at Levi earlier. You sounded too confused and shocked, even for you.

But nothing made sense and Eren was now fuming.

"Listen—"

And you were all years for him, straining yourself to hear him over the music and the crowd that pushed your bodies closer. All because you were used to this, dropping all doubts and latching onto Eren. Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time he was that close to you, couldn’t comprehend the harsh reality. 

He was there because it bothered him to lose his play toy, and you were too blind to see it, or anything else beside his eyes as he talked. Blinking, you allowed Eren to take you to the kitchen, something about another drink. 

Levi was lost to you as Eren put his arm around your shoulders, barely keeping it there as he started talking about his classes and something his colleagues. You granted him your attention, all of it, never half hearted like he was with you most of the time.

Try all the time.

Because you were better, always so caring and welcoming for Eren to just pick and take whenever he pleased. But he was your friend, you cared too much about him to just let him go or ignore his needs. And he even left that pretty girl to talk with you. Surely, that must count as something. 

“Where’s your lip gloss, hm?” Eren inquired, watching you over the rim of his cup as you blinked, head titled to actually think about what he asked. Then,

“Oh, sorry. must’ve worn off,” you struggled to articulate the words, barely thinking them through, feeling small, almost lost under his stare for a moment. Eren smiled down at you, almost cynically, as he put his cup down and took your hand in his. 

“Want to dance?”

You nodded, faster than before, with—

It didn’t matter, not in that moment.

Assuring him it was alright, because every little thing was alright to you as long as it was Eren and his hand was taking yours, even if the hold was loose, barely there, like he was seconds away from letting it go.

#eren yaegar #levi ackerman #fanfic #reader #eren x you #eren x reader #levi x reader #hange zoë #erwin smith #reader insert #female reader #aot fanfiction #eren angst #levi angst

[real-jane]

heat/lightning

[ben solo x rey] ▪️ summary: London is... unseasonably warm, which wouldn't be so bad if it didn't come with a thunderstorm. ▪️ warnings: astraphobia, comfort, modern au. ▪️ words: 2k+

"Oh my god--I'm shaving my head." Ben secured his mess of black hair in a tie to get the infernal weight off his neck. Sweat beaded on his brow. He stood in front of the open window, fanning his torso.

Rey snickered. "No, you won't." She handed him a glass of iced tea, which he chugged. "The heat is making you bold. All of London will see your nakedness." Ben's sense of modesty went hurtling out of the window the second the air con went out. He wore only a pair of briefs printed with cartoon penguins. Rey had a matching set, given to them on their last anniversary by a smug Poe.

He wiped his mouth on his arm and pressed the icy glass to his forehead. "If I could remove my skin, I would. England was supposed to be temperate."

"It's not that bad!" Rey sat on the sofa. Despite her assertion, Rey was sweating, too; Ben had graciously plaited her hair into two french braids. She was no stranger to heat after all those summers in Jakku.

"Sweetheart, it's always raining--and it's still horrible." Ben scowled at the sky like it personally wronged him. They had only lived in London a few weeks--once his job transfer had gone through, his company found them this flat, which was lovely, if not a bit dark for Rey's taste. The massive windows in the living room made up for it. The air con, however, was about twenty years old. Ben had called the building manager seven times in the course of twenty-four hours, demanding to know when the technician was expected--his phone went 'missing' in Rey's sock drawer.

The sky flashed. Ben stepped back from the window. "One, two, three, four, five, six..." he trailed off. No boom accompanied the sudden flash, but the clouds were foreboding. "Huh. Must be heat lightning." The lights flickered and the entire flat went dark. Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great." He set his glass beside hers on the coffee table and went to the control panel in the front hall. He flipped the breaker but nothing happened. Of course the two hundred year old building didn't have a backup generator.

Thunder rumbled outside and the light flashed once more.

"No, no, no..." Rey jumped up. "It was only supposed to rain!" Where did she pack the torches? In the bedroom boxes? Or... kitchen?

"Rey, it's okay!" Ben called, but she ignored him, running for the kitchen. The boxes loomed in the corner but she couldn't read his chicken-scratch on the side.

"Have you seen the torches?" Rey yanked open the drawers. Many metal items with handles glinted at her but none of them produced light. She found a long-handled plastic propane lighter and flicked the trigger a few times. No flame.

Ben followed her into the kitchen. "The lights will be back on any moment."

She slapped the lighter against his chest. "Remember when I asked you to refill this with lighter fluid but you didn't?" Rey stormed past him down the hallway towards their bedroom. She stubbed her toe against an uneven floorboard and hopped on one foot. "Ouch!"

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I forgot. Can you take a deep breath--" Thunder shook throughout the flat. Rey hunched over and covered her ears. Ben knelt in front of her, covering her hands with his. She wriggled out of his grasp.

"You're a fucking furnace!" She had a frantic, unreachable frown on her face. Ben made a deliberate decision and lifted her around the waist, dragging her into the washroom. He shut the door and plunked her in the bathtub. He closed the curtain (so she was encased in darkness), and sat with his back to the wall.

Her fingers curled into her palms. Her eyelids refused to blink. She stared at his silhouette through the clear plastic, back-lit by erratic lightning flashes from under the door. "...why the bath?" she managed.

"It's too damn hot to hold you," he said. "At least there's no window in here."

She pressed her forehead to her knees. "Smart." The sound of the thunder was faint, now that they were away from the windows. The porcelain was cool to the touch. Goosebumps popped up on her arms.

"Can I get you anything, sweetheart?"

"Just be with me."

"I'm here." He listened to her sniffle only once before taking the toilet paper roll off the dispenser. He set the roll within her reach. Rey blew her nose.

This storm wasn't half so bad as the gale they weathered together the first time they ever went camping. They slept in the Falcon after the wind wrenched the tent out of its tether and the poles snapped... the old sprinter van stalled out on the side of the road, where they waited out the tow truck. Hail pelted divots into the paneling. Neither of them slept a wink, between Rey plastered to his chest, crying, and the incessant howling. Ben never took her camping in the early summer again.

He knew she was annoyed with herself.

"What's on your mind?" he asked.

She sniffed. "You know... when you have nightmares? And you can't get back to sleep, or you'll pick right back where you left off?" Rey let out the breath she had been holding. "What do you think about?"

He turned around and moved the curtain, enough to prop his head on the edge of the bath. He touched the back of her head with the faint brush of his knuckle. "Hmm. Sunflowers."

She peeked at him. "Really?"

"Mhm. Fields of them, as far as the eye can see, taller than me. The size of dinner plates."

Rey smiled. "Nothing's taller than you."

"This is a fantasy, sweetheart. I imagine walking through the field on a sunny day, no clouds in the sky. Nowhere to be, a little breeze. Helps every time."

"They're... endless?"

"Yes."

She raised an eyebrow. "...that's kind of creepy."

"What?"

"I mean... you're describing a cornfield, basically. Bad people hid in cornfields."

He snorted. "Ax-murderers and possessed children, maybe--hang on, are you saying I'm a bad guy?"

"When we met, you had a pseudonym--"

"Lots of copywriters have pen names!"

"'Kylo Ren.' Blech." She pretended to vomit.

"Hey, I like it--"

"Sounds like a brand of bleach."

He pushed the shower curtain aside with a flourish and waved his hands. "Scoot over! I'm coming in."

Rey laughed. "No! You giant! You won't fit--"

Ben sat beside her, legs hanging well over the sides of the bathtub, and tickled her sides. She writhed, laughing. She grabbed his wrists and leaned against him. She caught her breath by forcing his arms to settle around her shoulders, and they shook with laughter.

"It's too hot, you jerk!"

"Don't care," he laughed. He kissed her hair.

She sighed. "Sorry."

He shrugged. "For what?"

She narrowed her eyes. Even in the dark she could make out the way his mouth quirked. "I'm... isn't this annoying to you? That I do this?"

He scoffed as if the very thought was preposterous to him. "No."

"I'm a mess, Ben--"

"You're afraid of thunderstorms! So what? I'm afraid my father will come back from the grave just to haunt me for how long my hair has gotten" He squeezed her shoulder. "I love you.”

She turned her face into his skin. "I know."

"If this happens and I'm not here, will you call me? Even if I can't come home right away... I can talk you through it."

"I survived a lot of storms before you came along. Besides, what if you're in meetings all day? I'll be fine."

"Yes, but I would feel better if you checked in."

"Does your mother know she raised a nag?"

Ben chuckled. "Don't tell her, ok? She'd be insufferable. She already gloats about setting us up."

"Remind me to thank her."

"Letting her plan the wedding is enough. She's overbearing and she's across the Atlantic."

Rey hummed in agreement. Another streak of light flashed under the door and her engagement ring shone for a moment. The ring was Leia's. Rey was sad not to be able to see her--sadder than Ben, even. She promised to visit before the end of summer, but she couldn't stay with them if they continued to drag their feet about unpacking.

Rey smacked his arm in excitement. "I know where the torches are!" Rey leaned over and opened the bottom drawer of the sink cabinet, producing two black Maglites.

Ben laughed. "Why did you pack them with the bathroom stuff?"

"What's the worst place to be if the power goes out?"

"The sun."

She elbowed him in the side. "The bath!" Rey pressed the button on a torch and held it under her chin. "I'm a genius."

Ben took the other torch from her. "You're a Rey of sunshine." He shined it in her face and she cringed, batting his hand away. He laughed. "Hey, listen." He pointed the torch upwards, and gestured to his ear. There was no sign of rumbling anymore. Like a blessing, the lights came back on, and a whirl of forced air wheezed as the air con sprung to life.

"We're saved!" Ben threw his hands up.

"Your luscious mane lives another day."

"One day, you're gonna come home and it'll be--bzzzzt! Gone."

"I hope not." She tugged the hair-tie free of his ponytail and ruffled his thick hair so it fell forward over his face. "You like it too much when I pull your hair during sex, and what would I hold onto, then?"

His eyes darkened as he carded a hand back to push it off his forehead. "Get out of this bathtub," he growled. Rey giggled, jumping up. He tossed his torch back into the bathroom drawer.

Ben was on her heels, flicking off lights behind them as he went.

"Still too hot for this!" she gasped, brandishing her torch like a sword.

Ben advanced on her. "What are you going to do, stab me with your light sword?"

"It's more of a blunt force weapon," she winced. "Truce?"

He held up his hands in acquiescence. Rey turned off her flashlight and set it on the coffee table. She breathed out in relief. "I'm hungry. What would you say to Italian for dinner? I found a new place--Ack!" Ben tackled her to the sofa and pinned her there. He laid his head on her chest. "Why?" she sighed.

"Can you slow down?" he murmured into her neck. "We've spent the weekend in abject misery, but now the air is back on and the storm is over. Tomorrow is Monday. You were pretty upset earlier... I want to touch you for a second." He wiggled his arms beneath her and hugged her waist. Rey brushed his hair off his face.

"Ben?"

"Hmm?"

"Nothing we do can be described as 'abject misery.' So." She poked the end of his nose lovingly.

He rested his chin on her sternum. "Do I need an excuse to hold you?"

Rey shook her head and smiled. He looked pleased with himself and kissed her collarbone, before pillowing his head against her chest in self-satisfaction. She felt guilty that her panic attack took up so much of their Sunday.

She still had a hard time appearing 'weak.' Storms were awful for her, always had been, since that time Mr. Plutt locked her out of the house in a howler (before she perfected running away from the bad foster placements). Something about her nearly-nude fiance depositing her into a bathtub made the fear a little... less dire. Not that lightning wasn't horrifying in the way it arced, defiant of any life in its path--coupled with explosive thunder. It wasn't so bad with a hulking, penguin-print brief-wearing, refrigerator of a man to help her through it.

Ben was pretty open about his own fears. One of their biggest fights evolved out of his fear of losing her if his job required him to relocate, but he didn't want to stifle her either, or force her into something she didn't want. They were already engaged by that point, and he still thought she might have doubts. As if Rey didn't want this. His openness was his strength, a rare trait in men, in her experience. Said man was laying with his eyes shut, cheek squished. Not yet asleep, but could be if they laid there much longer. He fell asleep so easily, it was comical. He slept through practically every movie they tried to watch. The moment he snuggled up--boom, asleep. There was no question that he felt safe with her.

Her stomach growled. Ben opened his eyes.

"Okay, okay," he conceded. "Let's order dinner."

my masterlist - my reylo masterlist

#reylo #reylo modern au #reylo fanfic #reylo au #ben solo and rey #ben solo x rey #ben solo

[sibsteria]

all the angels [cast & angels & chuck]

prompts: ''run away with me''

summary: [bare with me, this is a long summary and concept] throughout the decades, y/n and the angels lived in harmony, her being the only being with powers on par with chuck. an immortal life with your angels sounds good, doesn't it? something goes wrong and y/n gets projected into the world of the spn actors. she had never met god, despite being made for the angels because of him. the thing is, she doesn't remember anything of her life with the angels and this messes with reality. the world of reality, along with y/n, are all magically convinced she has always been in their universe as a fellow cast mate. what happens when most of her favourite angels and a certain hellish man team up to collect her in the middle of a con?

characters: Rob Benedict, Richard Speight Jr, Mark Pellegrino, Misha Collins, Mark Sheppard, Sebastian Roche, Chuck Shurley, Gabriel, Castiel, Lucifer, Balthazar, Crowley

warnings: I dreamt something along the lines of this and it's just pure crack, I apologise, fluff, angst, everyone is single because it gets weird. I wrote this at 4am :/

---

''So let's talk about Y/n's character! She hasn't been explained too much but we know her backstory.'' Wow, thank you, Mark Sheppard.

''Well, I'm pretty sure the fans already know.'' I shrug, but a glare from the man before me makes me roll my eyes.

''Come on, don't leave them in the dust, also sharing a name with your character is weird right?'' He teases me, I resist the urge to walk over and playfully slap him.

''Fine. She was created by God to please the angels in whatever way they needed, with her consent obviously. She creates a connection with Gabriel and their connection become the focus of her life, until she meets Crowley-'' I look over at Sheppard and paint a fake scowl on my face, sending the audience into light laughter. ''-who is also vying for her attention, but as you all know, she had been killed off at the end of the last season. Y'all didn't see that blinding golden light and her disappearing act?'' I raise my eyebrow at the crowd. They murmur amongst themselves.

''Are you sure she was killed off?'' Richard snickers from next to me. ''What if her dear Gabe just snapped her away for some-'' He wags his eyebrows to out fans. ''-angel on paragon action.''

''It's literally in the script shut up- or you know, believe this idiot.'' I smile, showing I meant no offense

''Scripts change! You know that!'' Misha reasons, aggressively.

''I suppose so.'' Leaving audiences in an unsolved mystery is the fun of cons.

---

Sitting in the green room, it's sweaty and warm after the panel. We are instantly greeted by our colleagues awaiting their next instructions such as Mark Pellegrino, Sebastian Roche and Rob Benedict.

''Welcome back, you little bastards.'' Sebastian's voice rings throughout the room, I groan, faceplanting onto the couch where Rob sat, fiddling with an acoustic guitar.

We sat, talked, ate, I napped, yknow the usual.

---

''So, do you think they will bring you back for the next season?'' Misha asks, I bite my lip and answer him.

''I have no idea, no one has said anything so maybe not. I'll be joining our widdle Kings of Con if not.'' I give a baby voice when talking about the couple that is R2.

''Hey!'' Rob's voice wavers in his distinct little way.

''Rude of you to call me little.'' Richard winks and I shoot gag at him, he feigns a frown.

''In other news-'' Mark Pellegrino's cut-in is interrupted by a blinding golden light, surrounding the room. I grip onto Rob's arm as the ground begins to shake, burring my head into his chest, I cover my eyes from the light. He holds me back just as tight, hiding in the comfort of my shoulder. One of many weird, intimate moments with him that makes people believe we are together.

A loud, pitched, sound rattles around us. A few of us scream in pain but I just whimper and move closer into Rob.

Suddenly, everything stops and stills.

I can't force myself to move.

''What the fuck?!'' I hear Misha, making me not want to move even more.

''Ha! Look, she's cuddling you. Awe.'' I hear Richard's voice, but it wasn't him, it didn't sound like him. I pull myself away from Rob's chest and look at the scene unfolding.

'What the fuck?'' I whisper, repeating Collins' earlier comment. Stood here, a few feet in front of us are Gabriel, Balthazar, Castiel, Crowley, Lucifer and Chuck. Did I miss something?

''Not happy to see us, darlin'?'' Gabriel smirks, a foot of his approaches me, I look at them in confusion and shock.

''W-What's going on?'' That is the first time I have ever heard Pellegrino stutter.

''We should probably talk...'' Chuck wavers his hands to us all, motioning us to listen to him.

''So, uh, Y/n here? She's our Y/n, from our reality and we kinda want her back.'' Gabriel shuffles his weight between each of his feet, I'm in too much terror to even speak, so is everyone else.

''You hear him, dickbags? We want her back.'' Lucifer crosses his arms, staring dead into Pellegrino's soul, presumably to make him uncomfortable.

''I don't understand-'' I stop myself, leaving it at that.

''Wait, do you not remember?'' Gabriel looks at me, broken eyes reflect his inside pain.

''Of course she doesn't, you bollock! Can't you see the look on her face?'' Crowley rolls his eyes but for some reason I can sense his true sadness.

''I will explain, better.'' Castiel takes a step towards me. ''You are Y/n Divine, our Divine, your the celestial from our existence. Your our...?'' He struggles to find the words, Balthazar answers for him. Not the lot of explaining I need there, Cas.

''Our collective soulmate, so to speak.'' He nods.

''Yeah, that's who I am in Supernatural but- this isn't the show, this is reality. I gotta be dreaming, oh my God-'' Chuck interferes (doesn't he always).

''That's me.'' The nervous laugh from the bearded almighty almost makes me laugh, almost, but the situation was too real for it. ''Would it help if I...showed you?'' He says, unsure of his choice of words.

For some reason, I pour my trust into him, and walk towards the clone of my almost boyfriend, I wished.

''Mind if I show all of you?'' Chuck asks, before ignoring some of the 'no's in the room and he snaps, bringing us into a dream state.

Scenes flow through our brains, ones that weren't in the show

---

Dressed in a white kaftan with golden afflictions, there was Y/n, lay in the greenest of grass. And next to her? Gabriel the Archangel. Almost in a Bella-Edward meadow position, the two looked into each other, reading one another's soul.

''Run away with me.'' Gabriel whispers, lighter than air.

''What?'' She snaps out of her dreamy daze.

''Let's leave, you don't need any other angel that isn't me.'' This breaks her heart, although Gabriel was her favourite and the one she had a special connection with, she had a duty to remain near the other angels.

''I want to-'' Gabe's heart lifts but sank soon after. ''-but you know I can't. I wasn't created to defy my purpose, I would cease to exist if I did.'' A tear rolls down her cheek, the light from the fading sun rested gracefully on her skin.

''I know. Oh, what was I thinking? My father will come after us and- I would rather now think about what he would do to us, to you.'' He looks away from her to relish in his pain.

''Don't be like that, my little Aurelian enchanter-'' She mentions the colour of his golden wings, which lay across the ground behind him, a beautiful sight. ''-the time will come where no angel needs me, then I can devote myself to you, only you.'' She mumbles, pressing a sure kiss to the peak of his nose. He huffs in a peaceful array of emotion.

''At least you don't kiss any other of my brothers or estranged family.'' He nudges back at her, nose to nose.

---

''That was sickening to watch.'' Pellegrino chuckles into the dark abyss of our voices, unable to see each other but still recognising each other within the blindness.

''Shall I show you another one?'' A rhetorical question from the Lord from above, as he whisks us into another memory.

---

She sat on a bench, clad in elegancy, the world was still new and beaming. New angels were being created, not all of them needed a divine celestial to aid them, so she spent her days watching the creations live. The bees harvesting pollen from the flowers was one of her favourite sights.

She felt an angelic presence appear next to her, but a new one, an unknown one.

''Who might you be?'' She asks, not tearing her eyes away from the fuzz of a creature.

''I am Castiel.'' Short and stat, seems like the kind of being he was, without a vessel he could be read more easily.

''No vessel yet, I assume?'' She looks towards the beam of light beside her.

''No, not yet. I hardly think there's a need for such a thing.'' His voice was the most beautiful she had heard, of all the angels, no vessel and no front made him so much more enticing.

''Well, nice to meet you. You're wings...they're black? Pretty though, new as well.'' She smiled at Castiel, his aura positively increased, the interaction helping them both. Just a simple amount of time in company can help an angel.

''Thank you.''

---

''So that's Castiel?'' Misha seems uneasy.

''Would you like to see the encounter between her and his vessel?''

---

She sat, with Balthazar, just grooming his beautiful wings. An act she did for her most favourite angels.

''Have you seen Castiel's vessel?'' He smiles up at her, in his own vessel.

''Not yet but I am excited though, from the comments I'm hearing, he is a most handsome fellow.'' She brushes past a certain spot, making Bal shiver in delight, not in a sexual manner.

''Ugh, like you don't find yourself infatuated with my golden winged brother already, don't go falling for another one.'' He groans in disgust, she laughs, melodically.

''I can promise you, I won't.'' That was a future lie.

''Hello, Y/n.'' A new voice from behind her, sensing the energy, she knew it was Cas.

A wide grin stretches across her features, ''Castiel!'' She shouts, whipping round to face the angel in his new restrictions. ''My, my, good choice, my angel.'' A nickname specifically reserved for the defying being.

''I would say 'thank you', but it would be a most similar and repetitive interaction.'' She sighs in relaxation, reliving her first encounter with Castiel.

''You are always welcome, you're one of my favourites.'' She boops his nose, squeaking 'boop' at the same time, Cas cocks his head in confusion.

''Boop?'' He questions her, she shrugs her shoulders.

''You're cute, so I booped you.'' She giggles, Castiel couldn't refuse the stutter in his 'emotions' as she spoke.

''Okay.''

---

I heard Mark Sheppard's voice throughout the void, ''YoU'rE cUtE, sO i BoOpEd YoU!'' His badgering voice pointing fun at me.

''Shut up.'' I mumble.

---

It was beautiful, the winding waterfall gushing down the rocks, watching it flow. She sat, in deep thought, things between Lucifer and Michael were getting tense, she was scared for the future.

''You don't need to worry about us, my little cherub.'' Lucifer's voice mixed eloquently with the sound of the waves slowly connecting the lake below.

''It's part of my job, I couldn't help it if I tried.'' She shrugged, she stared at the water, taking in the fresh air.

''I know that things aren't simple, they never will be, just know you will always have me. I have never spoken to anyone in such a tone before, you should be honoured, little one.'' This made her accumulate, she leaned back into hold, he was a median temperature. It was nice.

''My Lucifer.'' She grinned in thought. ''You always have been the most intriguing, I will never give up on you, I promise you that.'' She craned her neck to look at the blonde, before pressing the smallest of kisses to his jaw. She had never seen him so vulnerable, so honest with himself, and she wouldn't again for some time.

---

''My dear, this is too dangerous. You are not a warrior, you are a healer and an abettor. I can't let you, I'm sorry.'' Crowley's gruff rumble soaked the thin air, she wanted to fight for her angels- with her angels. She held the power, but not the will.

''I was made for this moment, this is my purpose, I have to do something.'' She pleads, tears stinging her eyes.

''Listen to me, darling, they need you alive more than you're help. Listen to what I'm saying, although I am nonpartisan, I can't remain unbiased. I fear that my little, fascination with you is what keeps you safe. The angels may not love it, but it keeps you safe whilst they handle their own. They want you safe, so that is what I will do.'' His short monologue seemed to flip something within Y/n, she stayed silent for a moment, reeling in thought. Hearing his repetition of the word safe just made her wish the same for her angels.

''I-I guess you're right. I don't want anything to happen to them, you remember last time, when it all-'' She couldn't bring herself to continue, relishing in the agony of remembering when Lucifer was cast.

''Yes, my dear, and you nearly got caught in the crossfire. It can't happen again, there is no other being like you and there never will be. The stories are that God nearly killed himself trying to create you, you are everything he wanted humanity to be.'' She smiled at this, he was trying to cheer her up with a bit of complimenting. ''Even if you are stubborn.'' She slapped his chest, as a farce and let out a small cachinnate.

---

Everyone was silent, things started to get heavy on thought and reason. No one could think of a word to say.

''One more for good measure, then we will asses you, Y/n.'' Uh, what does that mean?

---

The quiet air that surrounded the two was comforting and safe, content and peaceful. Y/n and Gabriel sat opposite one another, his wings lay in her lap as she did what she does best. Her hands traced up the outer lining of his wings, from top to bottom, before moving in the the inner feathers. She rolled a collection of feathers between her fingers each time she moving a few inches down, softly and gently. Working out the stress and the tightness that wound itself within them, he holds onto her knee, using it as a gripping post every once in a while. It wasn't a pain thing though, it was quite the opposite, the gratification and the bliss he was receiving from such a special moment was intense.

''I don't know why, I think your wings are my favourite.'' She hums out, brushing out the feathers she had been fixing in a swoop from the height of his wing and downwards, before moving on to the next section.

''Oh, really?'' Gabriel couldn't resist the playful tone residing in his comment, but that was what Y/n loved, he wasn't afraid to tease her.

''Without a doubt, they're mesmerising. Such a beautiful colour, and shape. They suit you so well.'' Slowly, she leans forward to kiss the corner of his mouth, before gently pulling herself back.

''Come on, sweetheart! You can do better than that-'' His voice is cut off by a staggering gasp as she unwinds a knot in his feather,  gripping her knee tight, he swoons.

She doesn't say a word, yet she picks up her head again, craning towards the angel's face. While continuing to brush out his ailerons of flight, she kisses him again, direct and strong. She moves against his lips with such care but much passion, Gabriel couldn't resist the slip of his tongue to her, she wasn't in any way complaining.

---

''Okay, that was upsetting to watch.'' Richard grumbles, we find ourselves back inside the green room, standing in front of us remain Chuck and Gabriel.

''You're telling me.'' I let a slanted expression reach my face.

''You mean you still don't remember?'' Gabriel's frown tugs at my heart, I feel something for him, but not as immense as what we have been watching.

''I have something that might work, but it might...do something?'' Chuck gives out a nervous chuckle, small and barely there.

''Do it, I need her back, I don't care about the consequences unless it hurts her.'' The strain and torment in his intonation is dismal.

''It won't hurt her, but it might- never mind, if it happens then it happens, if it doesn't then you will be happy you didn't know.'' Chuck walks towards me with purpose and I cower back slightly, a stern alarm on my face.

''W-Woah there, what are you doing?'' I reach out my hands in a 'stop' motion, he grabs hold of them.

''Bringing back your memory, I need you to focus on the moments you just watched, think about how you felt during them.'' I thought back, I felt as if I was the girl in the grass, and in heaven and the girl who loved the angels. I revelled in the select memories, the beautiful memories. ''Good, carry on thinking about them and how you felt.''

I felt a warmth surge through my hands, as they remained connected to Chuck's.

''It's working.'' I peek open my eyes and look down at our hands. Mine are white and hold a holy glow, my eyes widen as I look at the magic.

''This is you?'' I ask, Chuck shakes his head.

''It's you, well, it's us. You have your own powers, but this kind can only be used when I am touching you. You know you have angelic advantages, from the show?'' He explains in a way I understand, I nod. ''D-Do you want to remember this world? Along with your true one?'' I bit my lip before answering.

''I would, some people I can't let go.'' I look towards Rob, who stood off towards the side, the group of my colleagues still in shock of the situation, some whispering to each other.

''I see. Are you ready?'' The heat is getting more intense in my hands, a burning hot white light shines from then.

''I think so.''

''I need to warn you, you may not like what could happen next.'' He unclasps our hands before reaching up to sandwich my head between them. It wasn't painful, it was peculiar, my body went numb. This took around a minute before he took his hands of me.

My mind and his instantly travelled to a secluded world. It was barren and empty, but beautiful, Red sand and burnt skies surrounded me, small oasis' patched around. The sun was in a constant set, never going up nor down.

''Where are we?'' I asked Chuck, he was dressed in a white pant and shirt, I looked down towards myself. I was enclosed by a gorgeous lengthy white garment, a golden sash across my waist.

''We're in your head. How are you feeling?'' I smile.

''Like myself, thanks Chuck, nice to meet you by the way- can't believe I haven't said that yet, after all Gabe has told me.''

''Um, okay, this is going to be awkward to ask. What do you feel? When you look at me, that is.''

''Hm...'' I look into his soft eyes. I felt as if I belonged there, like it was home. My whole existence within his soul.

''That's- not good.'' He must have read me, because I didn't say that out loud. I widen my eyes, starting to panic. ''I-I mean, it could be? It depends how you feel on the matter.'' He tries to soothe me.

''Explain.'' Was all I said.

''We- well. I've linked us, not on purpose. You're life's fulfilment is with me now, along with the angels. I'm not your creator anymore, I'm your equal. Yet you are not light nor dark, your the meld of both, a mediator if you will. The love for the angels, can be found within myself now. I'm sorry, I never thought it would actually happen.'' I'm guessing this is the first time he has ever apologised, I don't know how but- I feel like I know everything about him. The almost humanitarian way he dabbles jn his powers is confronting.

''Yes, that's another edge you have, you know everything about me now, you know who I am and what I've done.'' He looks ashamed and off to the side.

''You may not be proud of who you are, but I am-'' I hold his hand and turn his head with my other. ''You're the creator, just because you have done bad things, does not mean you're a bad person.'' I feel like I've known him my whole life, I technically have. He remains silent.

''We will have our time, go seem them. If you ever need to see me and I'm not around, think of this place and I'll meet you here, no matter how far apart we are.'' He extracts us from the sanctuary.

I'm back in my own body, looking around at the awkward faces of my peers. We must have been stood, staring into space for some time.

''Hey-''I turn to Gabe as he speaks, walking towards him before I stop dead in my tracks. I swiftly run back to Chuck, slamming my lips against his, I feel my heart stutter in the shock of my own actions. He kisses me back with much more passion, before I pull away. I look at Rob, his mouth his hung open, using my power I look into his head.

He's shocked and- jealous. He thinks it's invigorating to see a version of himself kiss you. Realising he could've admitted his feelings to you, perhaps you wouldn't have gone back to them.

''Well- okay, that's new.'' Gabriel mutters, his voice cracks in the middle of his speech.

I turn and run towards Gabe.

''Don't worry, you're still my favourite.'' He yanks me into a hug, pulling me into a compact hug, I wrap my legs around his waist.

He whispers some enochian into my ear, I bite my lip and smile. Along the lines of 'should I book the hotel now or later?'.

''You know full well we don't need to do that.'' I couldn't help but tease him back, he sighs in content, happy to have us back.

''I'm- confused, what the fuck is going on?'' Sebastian calls.

''If you want, you can make them forget, Y/n.'' Chuck announces, a valley of yelling and protests wash over me from the Supernatural cast.

''Can I? It could be for the best...'' I trail off, the cast look at me with hurt in their eyes, I decide to communicate with Rob through his head.

'Rob' He looks around, alarmed. 'I'm in your mind, don't panic'

'How could you? I know you aren't meant to be here but please don't make me forget you' I could hear the pain within him.

'I won't completely, you'll know me, but not as who I am. You will know me as your colleague and friend, I'll visit you'

'I love you, I'm sorry I never said it' I heard his heart shatter.

'I love you too, maybe we can develop something in the future' Maybe I was asking too much of myself, maybe not.

''You ready to go back?'' Chuck waltzes toward me and Gabriel. ''Other angels want to see you, I can hear them, it's rather annoying.'' I smile at the thought of seeing them all again, this time knowing who they are to me.

''I think so.'' I turn back to say my goodbyes.

''Misha, you are one of the most genuine and kind people this Earth can offer, I'm so happy I met you.'' I move forward to hug him, channelling my power, as soon as I leave this plane it will activate- leaving them in the state they were before.

''Mr. Sheppard, you smarmy bastard, never change. The world couldn't take it. I'll see you soon.'' I step forward to hug him.

''My, my, Pellegrino, a tear? Not going soft on me, are you?'' He shakes his head, rolling his eyes at me. ''I'll miss you and your karaoke.'' I hug him, he holds on a little longer, refusing to let me go. I look at him with sad eyes, before turning to Sebastian.

''You and your attitude Roche, you're such a light person, you'll see me again and I promise you that. Keep up the humour, you're not yourself without it.'' I hug him, ejecting a powerful wave.

''Richard, I will admit you are my best friend, even when you're trying to sleep with everything that walks. Take care of Robbie for me, I won't be too long before my next visit, so hold on.'' I grip him in my arms, pulling gently on his beard as we part, before getting mockingly swatted away.

I couldn't sat goodbye to Rob, looking at his disheartened face. ''R-Robbie-'' I tried not to cry, saying goodbye to so many friends is breaking me.

''I can't explain how much you mean to me, I love you, in every way you can imagine. I love you all.'' I hug Rob, not wanting to let go.

''Please don't go.'' His whimper makes me finally let out tears.

''I need to. I promise I'll return.'' I think about my next action, before deciding on it.

'Pull away if you don't want this.' I say to him, his head is swimming with agony.

Kissing him, very lightly, I feel tears mix on my lips. I pull away before I get too attached.

''Gonna miss you, so much.'' He whispers to me, clutching my shirt in his hands.

''I have to go, bye Benedict, till we meet again.'' I try to spin a comedic affect into my words, stepping away from my best friends.

Chuck holds out his hands, Gabriel and I connect to them. I shut my eyes, I can't face what I'm leaving behind. I feel a golden illumination against my shut eyelids.

It's not forever, but I will miss them.

#supernatural imagine #supernatural #supernatural cast imagine #supernatural cast #supernatural lucifer #lucifer imagine #lucifer #lucifer x reader #supernatural lucifer x reader #misha collins #castiel imagine #castiel #gabriel #gabriel imagine #chuck shurley #chuck shurley imagine #chuck shurley x reader #rob benedict #rob benedict imagine #rob benedict imagines #rob benedict x reader #richard speight jr #mark sheppard #mark pellegrino #sebastian roche #crowley #crowley imagine #balthazar #balthazar imagine

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Friday Night Stabby best quotes part 27 (23/07/21)

Pearl has replaced Joker for this session. Grian also played for a while despite it being 3am his time.

…

Tango: Mrs T, are you good? Are you good? Mrs Tango: I was talking to people, I’m sorry. What do I need? Impulse: You need to get ready to stab some people in the face.

...

*Grian has altered his outfit and accessories to match Etho’s, complete with blue colour* Grian: I’m also Etho. Brody: It looks like it. Tango: Oooh! Look at that! Etho: Ohh, you’re looking good, actually. Grian: I’m off-brand Etho. Brody: Hold on. *pause* Etho: Oh no, no. Don’t, Brody. Brody, deadpan: What are you talking about? I don’t know what you’re talking about. *Brody has also put on Etho’s outfit, making 3 blue-coloured characters with the green alien and lab coat* Grian: Well that’s just copying.

...

(due to technical issues, the crew had to go back to vanilla Among Us. in the process, Grian managed to nab the cyan colour from Etho and now looks exactly like Etho usually does)

*votes are revealed, everyone skipped except Grian who voted for Etho* Grian: *laughs* Etho: Oh come on! What? We were together the entire time, Grian! Grian, still laughing: I know. Etho: Now that’s just spiteful.

...

*Grian runs up to the top reactor panel* Impulse: I got the bottom [reactor panel]. Etho, running down to join him: Etho powers! Oh. Impulse stole it. Okay. Grian: Did you just call me Etho?

...

Grian: Alls I wanna say is Tango was running at me really hard, like- Tango: I was going to weapons. Grian: He had his head down and he was sprinting, saying nothing. He had vengeance in his heart. Tango: Watch as I modify my speed, yes. Grian: Just saying. He didn’t say anything, not a friendly hello. And I know Tango; he is a fan of friendly hellos. I’m just saying, this is really suspicious. Tango: Not when I’m tryina kill you, I’m not gonna give you a hello.

...

(Grian has changed his skin back now to the lighter red with a balloon accessory, Etho is back to normal)

Brody: Did you say Grian intentionally talked to you? Endless: No, he was ignoring me. Brody: Oh well that checks out.

...

*after Impulse framed Endless for Grian’s murder but got voted out the next round* Endless, dead: I hate you for getting away with that, Impulse. Impulse: *laughs* Endless: I hate you for other reasons too but I hate you for that especially. Impulse: I can’t believe they believed me.

...

Grian: *reports Skizz’s body* Grian: So this is pretty clear-cut. Evil, do you wanna- I’ll let you defend yourself before I tell everyone what happened. Evil: I would like to hear what story you’ve got to come up with, Grian. Grian: Alright, well, it’s as simple as I went into electrical and you were walking right out past the body. Pearl: But this happened, like, literally 1-2 seconds ago cuz I just walked away from Skizz. Grian: Yeah, I caught him killing [Skizz]. Impulse: Was he cleaning his knife off, by chance? Grian: He had it in his beak, shaking it side to side. Impulse, laughing: That’ll do it! *pause* Tango: Evil? Defence? Evil: I was… *pause* Grian: …killing someone? *long pause* Evil: You told the story perfectly.

...

Brody: Impulse is laughing. I don’t trust it. Impulse: You shouldn’t :)

...

Grian, whispering: Guys. It was Etho. Brody: Grian thinks it’s you. Grian, whispering: Grian KNOWS it’s you. Brody: KNOWS it’s you. *pause* Etho: That’s fine, you can vote me. See what happens. Impulse: If we vote Etho off, it’s gonna be really fun trying to figure out who it is after, cuz I got sus on nobody other than Etho. Brody: Okay. You said fun and I like fun. *votes* There you go. Impulse: Mmhmm! Let’s go for fun! *pause as everyone starts to vote* Grian: It might be Impulse, guys. Impulse: Yay for fun! Let’s go, Mrs Tango! Yay for fun! Mrs Tango: I did fun. *Etho is unanimously voted out* Brody: Etho! Why did you vote for yourself? Mrs Tango: Peer pressure.

...

Evil: I thought I was safe! I kill and I go to run out and here comes Grian and I’m like “son of a gun…” Astro: He must have a camera in that balloon or something. He can see everything. Impulse: Detective Grian! Check out his second channel.

...

Etho: So what makes you think I came from the left, Grian? Grian: I- Stop gaslighting me! It’s 4am, I might actually be wrong!

...

Endless: Brody’s got too many hats on. Brody: No, this is just the right amount of hats. Endless: It’s too many hats, sir. Brody: Don’t tell me how to live my life. You’re not my real dad.

...

Endless: Miss you, Astro. Evil: Did you miss him with your knife? Endless: I was standing right next to you in electrical!

...

Etho: I’ve got my eye on Balloon Boy a bit. Grian: You’ve always got your eye on Balloon Boy.

...

*everyone skipped except Endless, who voted for Grian* Grian: Endless! Why? Brody, to Etho: You convinced Endless. Impulse: Don’t worry about Endless, sometimes he just… you know.

...

Endless: I’m voting for Grian. Grian: What?! Wait wait wait wait wait, why are you voting for me? *long pause* Endless: You don’t know. Alright, let’s go. Grian: There’s literally nothing! Impulse: Welcome to Endless, Grian. This is Endless; don’t worry about it.

...

(Grian leaves the group)

*body is reported* Tango: Etho, where’d you just come from? *pause* Etho: I dunno. Tango: Mkay.

...

Endless: Pearl mocked me for saying ‘gas’ instead of ‘petrol’ so I’m voting for her.

...

Evil: Etho, are you feeling okay, buddy? Etho: I’m fine. It’s the rest of you that are crazy.

...

Astro: Okay so let’s vote for Mrs Tango because she blatantly came right in, killed Endless, and then jumped in the vent. Etho: Mrs Tango, you got a defence? Mrs Tango: Can you blame me? Etho: Good defence.

...

Brody: Hey, guess what? Endless wasn’t an imposter. Tango: Oh. We should vote him out anyways.

...

Skizz: That was VERY well done, Impulse. Impulse: Not well done enough, apparently. Skizz: No, it wasn’t good enough. But only because you’re not good enough. Impulse: HEY!

...

Astro, chasing Endless round the lobby: I’m sorry, Endless. Sorry, Endless. Endless: No, there’s no sorry! Killed first? We couldn’t just- We couldn’t just go aside and talk about it for a few minutes and then just let me not report you? I would’ve let you have that but you killed me first, dude! Astro: *laughs*

...

Brody: Tango seems like the kind of person who would kill Endless first. Tango: *laughs loudly* Ah, man. I hate you.

...

*Endless is the only person to have not gotten imposter the whole night* Endless: I love each and every one of you but this game is the stupidest game I’ve ever played in my life.

#friday night stabby quotes #friday night stabby #impulsesv #tangotek #skizzleman #etho #pearlescentmoon #grian #theendless #evilnotion #brodyman #astrozoan #mrstango

[rhydium]

fuck it starfinite drabble

its 12pm n i haven't slept, @ the two (2) other fans of these dumbasses come get yall juice ig ???? played around w/ a concept i had n figured i'll just ... post it. why not. this takes place in my android infinite au, pre-relationship!! u don't rly need context other than that tbh ((but feel free to ask me abt it i will gladly infodump))

cw: loss of limb (infinite's arm; it gets reattached), references to blood n stuff in the context of intrusive thoughts. please lmk if i need more!!

×

"what on earth were you thinking?" starline near shouts, his voice exasperated, shaky with adrenaline. he's angry and he's afraid and it's, it's stupid, really, he can fix this, but his hands tremble as he rummages through his toolbox, eyes darting over to infinite; missing their right arm, wires sparking, broken and it's sickening. he has to look away again. breathe.

"you can't keep... you — you're being too reckless!"

"i don't have much other choice." infinite says, so simply, so infuriatingly calm, so calm, such disregard for the fact they just had a limb blown off.

starline finds the last screwdriver he needs, but continues to sift around, poking and prodding and inspecting wrenches as if he's still looking for something. if he stops that means having to face this and he isn't ready — he needs to, but he can't.

"why?" he asks, ignoring the way his voice cracks, swallows the dry lump in his throat, "why, infinite?"

"is it really not obvious?"

starline grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut. his hands grip the edge of the box. "no!! it isn't!"

"i can be repaired. rebuilt. you can't. it's not that complicated. if one of us gets hit then logically it should be me."

his chest seizes as the words sink in, sink through his skin and down, down, down into his stomach like a stone; his gut churns and twists with guilt.

no... no, that's —

"that's stupid!" starline hisses. that self-sacrificing, idiotic...!

he whips around, locking eyes with infinite, don't look at their arm, don't look at it, don't look at the socket.

"don't speak like that. ever again."

whether it's his expression, his tone, infinite seems taken aback, almost appearing to flinch. they stare at him, frowning, though in a way more indicative of confusion than anger.

"like what?"

"like you're disposable!!"

...fuck.

there's a long moment of silence after starline's outburst. he pulls in a deep breath, pinches the bridge of his bill, averting his eyes to the floor, anywhere else, anywhere but infinite. he thinks about apologising — he shouldn't have yelled like that — but infinite is, this can't continue, they're being nonsensical, they keep endangering themselves, it can't.

"i... you just don't get it, do you?" he murmurs, shaking his head, running a hand through his hair. a small, strained laugh escapes his throat, voice thin. "do you have any idea how it makes me feel, watching you get hurt like this?? throwing yourself around like some kind of — like a living shield??"

he's not going to cry. starline is not about to cry.

"you... could have died." infinite says quietly. "all those times, and today, if i hadn't stepped in — for you those blows would have been life changing, if not fucking fatal. do you know how that makes me feel, star?! i can't let that happen. it's so easy to just, imagine you laying there, not moving, the blood, and..." their fingers — god, the ones they still have — twitch restlessly. infinite picks at their claws.

starline can hardly restrain the choked noise that fights its way out of him.

they're doing this for him, to protect him, this is all his —

"it's not your fault." infinite speaks firmly, as if sensing his thought process. "but objectively..." they wave a hand, sighing, "you know? this doesn't even hurt me."

"it hurts me." starline exhales through his nose wearily. "emotionally."

"i'd rather you be a bit emotionally distressed than dead," infinite scoffs softly, "let me repeat; the damage i take isn't permanent or painful. you, on the other hand, are one accident from being... i don't even want to imagine it."

"then what am i supposed to do?!"

"be more careful and i won't have to get involved." infinite shrugs.

starline groans.

"why does it bother you so much?"

"are you kidding?!"

the lack of response would point toward no, apparently.

"because i care about you, you absolute fool!"

infinite falters for a moment.

"...but. i'm not in pain. i can be fixed. what are you afraid of?"

starline gazes at them wordlessly.

i'm afraid one day i won't be able to fix you.

i'm afraid i'm going to lose you.

i'm terrified of losing you because i love you but you don't know that and you can't know that.

"...star?"

"i — look, forget it. i just, i don't want to talk about this anymore, i need to repair your arm."

"you're hiding something."

"aren't you perceptive..." starline can't help but mutter.

"are you okay?"

does it look like it?

"i'm fine."

"could at least put a little effort into it if you're going to lie." infinite mumbles.

"would you just...!" starline takes a deep breath. "be quiet. please."

infinite briefly opens their mouth as if preparing to protest, but ultimately falls silent. they look away, absently staring off at the far window.

starline grabs his tools. he just... has to focus on work. this will probably take a while, he realises. it's easily the most damage infinite has ever taken — at least during their time with him. he's worked with robotics a long time, but infinite is a highly advanced android, and they require extra care, presicion.

infinite's shoulder sparks again. they don't react.

"...you really don't feel anything, do you?"

infinite raises a brow.

oh. right. i told them not to talk.

they shake their head, and starline nods, uttering a quiet "sorry."

no reply.

"can i... start the repair?"

"...you're not just going to go ahead and do it?"

"no. never. listen, i've made habit of asking for your consent and i have no intention of breaking it. it's your body."

"...i don't mind."

"alright."

starline supresses a sigh and begins to tackle the rather daunting task of fixing up and reattaching infinite's lost arm, which has been laying motionless on the table for the past ten minutes. despite the lack of blood, absence of stench, as would be had if infinite was organic, it's still disturbing somehow. he shivers at the thought of dealing with dismembered flesh, of muscle and bone, and finds himself suddenly a lot more appreciative that infinite is an artificial being.

despite the knowledge infinite can't actually feel any of what he's doing, starline proceeds slowly, gently. regardless of whether they can feel it, their body deserves to be treated with respect. he fiddles with their wires delicately between his fingers, turns bolts and adjusts joints with only as much firmness as necessary, apologises when he has to snap certain supports back into place. now and then, he glances at infinite, who looks oddly tense, contemplative... uncertain.

"are you... uncomfortable?"

"what...? no, i... i told you i can't feel it, didn't i?" they say distantly.

"well — yes, but, what about mentally? are you alright...? do you want me to stop? i'm sorry that these procedures are so... invasive, and it probably, after —"

— no, no, what are you doing don't bring that up —

"...ah. nevermind."

infinite blinks, as if processing his words, and then their expression shifts in understanding.

"you're fine. i mean, this is.... i'm fine." they affirm.

"...okay."

"i mean it. it's... you're nothing like him."

there was once a time starline would have found such a statement insulting. nowadays, he can't be more relieved infinite thinks as such. he adjusts his glasses and continues tinkering away, figuring he won't get much else out of them, at least for now. whatever is on their mind, he'll let it be. the rest of the repair goes smoothly, time passing in a silence that is isn't uncomfortable, nor fully comfortable. he can't help but feel bad about the... was it an argument? he isn't sure, really. maybe that's what infinite was thinking about...?

as he wraps things up, closing the last panel on their forearm and preparing to request that infinite run through a few tests to make sure everything is working correctly, they finally speak; though it isn't anything starline was expecting them to say.

"you could destroy me," infinite utters softly, and they just kind of... look at him, something in their eyes that starline can't put a name to. "if you wanted to. you could rip me apart from the inside."

"i... guess i could." starline murmurs, his fingers lightly trailing over the panel, hidden beneath infinite's fur, the only sign of its existence being several small ridges and the bump of a screw head. "does that scare you?"

infinite smiles. "it's terrifying." they reply. "to allow myself to be so vulnerable... to — to want to let my guard down."

starline blinks in surprise.

to want to...? they want to let me in?

"then why...?" he tilts his head curiously. his hand stills, but lingers where it is.

infinite shrugs loosely. "it's you."

oh.

starline, don't you even think about it, that isn't what they mean...!

he clears his throat awkwardly.

"er... is that... supposed to explain it?"

"it's all i've got." infinite replies. the small quirk of their lips broadens a bit, and they chuckle. "sorry."

...starline finds himself smiling back.

god, he's tired, the past hour has been immeasurably draining, but... this, this makes it all worth it. seeing them like that... it lifts all the stress, the anxiety. he feels lighter.

"thank you."

"huh?"

"for trusting me. i know it... must take a lot."

infinite shifts their hand — the one that hadn't been damaged — and hesitantly, very slowly reaches over. they look between starline's hand still resting on their inner arm, just above the wrist, starline's eyes, his hand again, and starline goes to withdraw — but before he can do so, infinite places their own over it.

"thank you." they whisper. "for treating me kindly. for treating me like... a person."

starline's breath catches in his throat. oh god, he cannot mess this up. infinite never — they never initiate contact like this, ever. he can't scare them away, he knows it's difficult for them to be touched, let alone how much faith they're showing in him to touch, and he will not squander all their progress. nothing will ruin this moment.

"you are one."

"...i care about you too, star."

"i — what?"

"you said earlier that you cared about me. i care about you too," they elaborate, a flicker in their eyes, this time something starline recognises, as quickly as it's hidden again; fondness. a very specific kind of fondness that... no — he isn't sure if he's imagining this or not. he has to be. surely, he's making it up. wishful thinking, seeing what one wants to.

"...a lot. more than you know." infinite finishes.

starline gazes into their eyes steadily, searching, trying to find it again. infinite stares back, almost like they're looking for something, too. oh, how easy it would be; to lean down, move in, to kiss them, but starline is not going there. he has no confirmation infinite likes him like, well, that and, it would be far too fast even if they did. not to mention he certainly wouldn't do it without asking.

"...you're hiding something too, aren't you?" starline settles for asking vaguely.

infinite's eyes widen slightly, then glitter mysteriously, amused.

"aren't you perceptive?"

#jackal.txt #my writing #can u tell i had no idea where i was going w/ this or how to end it lmfao #infinite the jackal #dr starline #starfinite #edited as of 24/02 to remove the term crippled and reword infinite's dialogue regarding fear of star becoming disabled #i had no idea crippled can be taken as a slur and i also don't want this to come from a perspective that sounds like being disabled would be #the worst most tragic horrible thing. rather infinite just does not want star to wind up hurt!! bc of course you'd never want someone tht #you love to go through that. i really hope i articulated this properly and i apologise if it was insensitive and poor taste

[wireddless]

Codeine Scene (Five H. x Reader) [2]

Codeine Scene Masterlist

Authors Note: Here this is! The rest of the story is in the works and hopefully will be finished in the next few weeks. I only expect this to be about 12-20 chapters long, depending on how much my friend and I edit this. This chapter mentions what it’s like to experience ADHD, as it’s not common within the writing community. I myself have struggled all my life with it, and only wish for it to be more represented in the writing community 💕

Summary: After getting settled into the Academy, Five and the Reader make a quick journey for some groceries. Things don’t go according to plan.

Warnings: Drug use (Marijuana), descriptions of mental disorder (ADHD), Mild gore (not terrible, you’ll know when you get there.)

Word Count: 2432

(Y/n)’s head rested on Klaus’s meditation floor pillow, the rest of her body on a pile of miscellaneous blankets from the linen closet. The high was really setting in, she was now feeling it in her body. Not half an hour after getting settled into the academy, Klaus offered to smoke (Y/n) out. And by god he did. 

(Y/n) never had stuff this good before, and certainly not out of a rose petal joint. She could expect something as extra as a rose petal joint from Klaus, but she didn’t. It was really fucking pretty though, she’d admit. Klaus was sitting against the reading pillow at the foot of his bed, laughing with (Y/n) about something said in The Twilight Zone that sounded outrageous when out of context. 

Mixed with the smoke of lavender incense, the remaining smoke from the weed lingered, allowing them to get higher without needing to smoke more. (Y/n) had taken an interest in how spiritual Klaus was. She herself was agnostic, but found Klaus’s overall method very tantalizing. 

A record played in the background, on a suitcase turntable Klaus bought from a department store like two years ago. The Moody Blues, if (Y/n) recalled correctly. The song was slow, and physically felt good. Like laying down, but in the air. Of course she was also extremely high. 

The song was reaching one of its many peaks, and (Y/n) swore she could feel the electric guitar supporting the vocals. Klaus filled his pipe with another bowl of weed and took a long, deep hit, before passing it to (Y/n).

“Mine already?” She gasped. The mere sight of the pipe being handed to her sent a euphoric feeling down her body. She sat up and took the pipe and grabbed a lighter from a bowl of them to her right. Inhaling, she held the flame over the bowl. The smoke felt terrible, but she held it in as long as she could. (Y/n) let out a long exhale, clouding up the room even more. She could feel someone at the door. 

“The house reeks of weed, just to let you know.” Five spoke, leaning on the doorframe. His harsh words earned a chuckle from Klaus. 

“It always does, stop trying to make (Y/n) feel bad.” Klaus took the bowl back from (Y/n) and took another hit. She ignored Five, and let the music in the background hold her attention. The song was called Nights in White Satin. She’s heard it before, but never appreciated it. 

“Klaus where do you get your vinyls? I haven’t found a Moody Blues album anywhere I’ve looked.”

“Oh, I just snag them from Luther’s room.” He started. “After he and Allison finally figured their shit out and fucked, they moved in together just outside The City. They didn’t have enough room for his entire collection, so he took a box of them and left the rest. It’s really convenient if you ask me.” 

“Seems like it.” (Y/n) hummed. She looked over at Five again and stared for a second. “You’ve time traveled right?” 

Five tilted his head like a confused dog. “Yeah, why?” 

(Y/n) spoke again, “Have you seen, firsthand, how large a dinosaur's cock is?”  Before Five could even begin to think of a reply, Klaus sat up and chimed in.  

“You know, that’s a really interesting question.” He complimented (Y/n)’s thought process. “Five, how large is a dinosaur’s dick?” 

“I have never seen a dinosaur‘s Penis!” Five spoke, flustered. 

(Y/n) hummed in response, amused. “Why do you think there aren’t like, fossils of dinosaur dicks? Like did scientists think it was inappropriate?” 

“Because it’s made of muscle and tissue, those don’t fossilize, bone does.” Five groaned. Klaus and (Y/n) snort, their bodies scrunching up in laughter. 

“Bone.” Klaus said in a pause between his giggles. Hearing the word makes both of them laugh even harder. 

“I live with children.” Five muttered and walked away. 

Klaus and (Y/n) continued to giggle like little children who stole their preschool teachers keys. 

The reek of weed slowly started to fade. Five definitely had a contact high, but he didn’t mind too much, as he was still beyond functional. In a quick blip, he found himself in the kitchen, looking to make himself a quick snack. Upon opening the cabinet, he found no bread.

“Damn it.” He released an angered sigh, holding back the urge to kick a hole in the cabinet. The air around him constricted, and in a blue flash, he was back in Klaus’s room. 

“Holy shit!” Klaus almost jumped out of his skin when Five blipped in front of him, and (Y/n) sat up quickly, not expecting him either. 

“We’re out of bread.” Five spoke immediately, not even waiting for the two in the room to adjust to his presence. “I’m headed to the store, do either of you want to come?”

“Oooh I can’t.“ Klaus frowned. “My stomach hurts. But (Y/n) can go!” He looked over at (Y/n). “You can go right?” She nodded, not minding Klaus speaking for her.  

“Yeah, it’s a little stuffy in here.” She lifted each hand up and down, keeping the heels of them on her leg. Five looked down at her and scoffed. 

“Well come on then.” He walked out of the room, not waiting for her to get up. (Y/n) scrambled up and followed after him. 

“See you in a bit, Klaus!” Her voice carried through the hallway as her feet hit each stair quickly. Five was a fast walker, she noticed, not taking any time to wait for her. Asshole. 

Five’s car was in the alleyway next to the house, hidden from the peering eye of those walking along the street. (Y/n) grabbed the passenger door handle, and as she was about to open it, Five spoke. 

“You might want to get in the back seat.”  His voice became muffled as he plopped into the driver’s seat. 

“What why-“ Before she could finish she caught sight of the tons of disposable coffee cups. “Ah.” She shut the door and got into the back instead. She awkwardly tapped her foot as Five put his car into gear and pulled out into the street. 

The drive to the market was quiet, except for the putter of the engine, and gentle taps of the rain landing on the roof. Five found a parking spot rather quickly, it being a cool weekend and all. 

“Just stay in the car, I’ll be right out.” Five grabbed his keys and slipped out of the car and walked through the parking lot to the market. With no music to focus on, (Y/n) tapped her foot quietly, trying to ignore the slight panic caused by the lack of stimulation. 

The rain only slightly calmed her, but it hardly did anything. Her hands came together and the snapping sound of her knuckles cracking filled the car momentarily, before falling silent. Her eyes darted around, looking at the soaked ground, then at the gray sky, then to the cars driving by on the freeway. 

(Y/n)’s ADHD had gone untreated for years. When her parents passed and she was placed in her aunt and uncle’s custody, they took her off all medications. She had become quite used to the inability to wear certain fabrics, the anxiety caused by lack of or overstimulation, always moving some part of her body, or the dirty looks she was given when she overspoke when trying to make friends. 

The sound of the door opening quickly shot her out of her thoughts. She was about to greet the person getting in, when she realized that it wasn’t Five. 

“Shit shit shit shit!” He spoke under his breath, clearly panicked. (Y/n) was completely still, except for her hand, slowly creeping to the big silver wrench next to her. She was losing time as he quickly attempted to pull the panel off of the area next to the ignition. 

Her fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the wrench, and she quickly pulled it towards her, trying to stay as quiet as possible. She inhaled as deeply and as quietly as she could, before speaking. 

“Hey asshole!” The man in the driver seat jumped, not expecting someone to be in the back seat. He turned and looked at her before reaching in his pocket to attempt to grab something. (Y/n) lunged forward, attempting to hit him with the wrench, missing him as he fell back against the door, his hands whipping out a gun of some sort. Fuck. 

She was lodged between the front and back seat, not able to move back in her panic. She was close to tears, but could hold them back. Her hands slowly raised, showing she wasn’t going to hit him. 

“Ok, n-now put the wrench down.” His gun was still pointed at her. She slowly lowered her hand with the wrench in it, earning his trust. But now was the time to think fast. Before she let go she aggressively grabbed the barrel of the gun and pushed it up, giving her an opening to swing the wrench at his face. 

A sickening crack and the loud scream of the man filled the car as she broke his nose. She wasn’t done though. She ripped the gun out of his hand, tossing it in the backseat before grabbing this man's head by the hair and slamming him into the steering wheel. A series of small honks from the car echoed in the nearly empty parking lot until she was done. Her hands were covered in the blood from his nose, a slight splatter on her shirt as well. 

“Oh my god.” He was unconscious. (Y/n)  managed to slip back into the backseat, no longer fearing for her life. She quickly stepped out and ran around the car to the driver's seat. “Oh my god.” She opened it and pulled the man's head back, resting it on the seats headrest. She had never really done anything like this before, so she was beyond skittish. Her heart and mind felt like they were going a million miles an hour, and she barely had a clue of what to do. “Oh my god what do I do?”

It took a moment before common sense truly hit her and she checked for breathing and pulse. Her first two fingers could pick up a heartbeat, a rather strong one as well. Her fingers moved to his Cupid’s bow, checking his breathing. She concluded that he was just knocked out, but she was still panicking. 

“Hey!” Five’s voice made her jump. She quickly peered over the car and saw Five walking towards her with a few bags. “I thought I told you to stay in the car.” 

“I know but something happened!” Five walked around the front and she stepped to the side, revealing the unconscious man below her. Fives eyes widened, surprised to say the least. 

“Now the question is; what happened?” Five looked at the man, and then her once again. 

“I-I was in the back of the car like you told me and this guy just got in and he tried to steal the car!” Her hand was shaking frantically. “He tried to-“ the word took a moment to process, her fingers showing that she was searching for the word. “Hotwire the car! He didn’t even see me and tried to rip the steering column cover off to get to the wires and everything!” (Y/n)’s voice shook. She was about to cry.

“Ok, ok, that’s a start. What did you do?” Five looked to her for more answers as he leaned down to check the man's vitals for himself.

“I grabbed the-the wrench and I tried to hit him with it but I missed and he pulled a gun out on me.” (Y/n)’s body slumped on the car, needing any support she could get as the adrenaline left her system.

“I don’t see a gun.” Five looked all over the man, not finding the weapon, before his gaze landed on it in the back seat. “Oh, go on.” He stood up and leaned on the vehicle as well. The grocery bags, now forgotten by his feet. 

“So I made him think I was putting the wrench down, and then I grabbed the gun and threw it in the back seat, and- and then I hit him in the nose with the wrench and it got his blood all over me,” She gestured to her messed up shirt. “And then I,” her voice broke, the weight of what just happened now settling on her. “I started hitting his head on the steering wheel, and- and I couldn’t stop.” She was full on panicking now. 

“Well you got the job done.” Five looked down at him again. “I think you broke his nose.” 

“Oh my god I did?” She started panicking more now. 

“Yeah, yeah but it’s fine, you didn’t kill him.” Five attempted to comfort her without pulling her into an embrace. He was awfully bad at it though. “Let’s just get him out of the car and go home.” 

“We can’t just leave him here!” (Y/n) glanced down at him. “That’s fucked up!” Five scoffed and replied. 

“Trying to steal a car is fucked up. He’ll be fine.” Five scooped his arms under the man and effortlessly pulled him out of the seat, dropping him on the ground next to the car, before grabbing the groceries and getting in himself. The groceries landed on the passenger seat with a plop before Five stuck his head out. “Get in the car.” 

“Fine.” (Y/n) took one last glimpse at the man she assaulted before getting in, slamming her door shut in unison with Five.

“You got blood on the steering wheel.” Five sighed and wiped it off with a tissue from the box he kept in the center console. As Five pulled the car back out onto the freeway, he spoke. “I didn’t know you had that in you, back there.” His Mazda came to the set speed, giving him the opportunity to glance at (Y/n) through his rearview. 

“I didn’t either.” (Y/n)’s voice was quiet, and shaky still. Brow furrowed, he spoke again. 

“Well, you did a good job.” He chuckled, knowing she’d be fine. “Klaus would be proud. Now let’s get you home so you can get cleaned up.”

#The Umbrella Academy #The umbrella academy reader insert #Number 5 #five hargreeves #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves fanfic #five hargreeves x reader #number five x you #number five x reader #number five imagine #five hargreeves x you #number 5 x reader #number 5 x you #Luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #Allison Hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #TUA #tua netflix #tua x reader #tua x you #the umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy x you #the umbrella academy oneshots #the umbrella academy imagines #the umbrella academy fanfiction #five x reader #five x you

[octalove]

VI: The Dotted Line

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Jason extends an offer. Part one, two, three, four, and five.

Note: someone said Batgirl and Jason mission, and i am but a humble servant of the people. also, i almost named this chapter “Carolyn Crawford”. Hope you like❤️

TW: Decription of sex work (barely), very light gore

Being back at Batman’s side was a peculiar thing these days. Soothing and suffocating all at once; like returning home after a long, liberating trip. It felt easy, and safe. I was reminded of the first time he brought me up to a towering building top. I clung to Nightwing like a life preserver.

Once I found my footing, the building tops were the only place I felt safe. The taller the skyscraper, the higher and farther from the grim city that raised me. I wondered what would happen when I outgrew the skyscrapers, too.

November was settling like an icy blanket over Gotham. My breath wreathed around me as my chest heaved from scaling the office building I was settled on, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gray dawn as 2am turned to 3am. I could see Robin’s breath too, as he crouched like a gargoyle on the balls of his feet. Even when I pushed his arm lightly, he glared, but didn’t move. The kid had incredible balance.

“I was beginning to enjoy your absence.” He muttered.

I smiled at him. “Are you kidding? Patrol is boring without me.”

“Patrol is boring without brainless plebeians to subdue. I can make due without you.”

“So you’re saying you don’t consider me a brainless plebeian?” I replied.

His lip twitched. He liked this game. It was the birthplace of many of his preferred insults.

“Closer to a bumbling fawn.”

“I like that one.”

Damian’s disinterest in all things regarding my thoughts and feelings was a good distraction. I’d been using him for the past week since my latest brush with Red Hood. Well, Jason. It was still hard to wrap my mind around.

I knew him. He knew me. I shouldn’t have been worried; he knew nothing about me. Nothing other than who I was, anyway. I wanted to ignore whatever residual feeling was left from fighting him on the docks, and I really wanted to say I hadn’t thought about the last thing he said to me. But in truth, I’d thought of little else. The large gaps of time between our meetings left time for that.

We were looking for him tonight. More specifically, Batman and Nightwing were. Robin and I were sent to the quiet apartment rows of Crest Hill, watching over nothing in particular. Sent to keep us away from the fray. Even Robin knew it. When Batman said we’d be patrolling here, he looked like he could rip the head off a puppy.

“Movement in Coventry.”

“On it. Thanks, Oracle.”

One of the better quirks of Damian Wayne was that in the case he was spurned by his favored allies (Bruce, Dick), he quickly formed new alliances (me, Tim). Bumbling fawn comment aside, I could tell I was in his good graces tonight by utter happenstance and Batman’s shortcomings. I was nothing if not opportunistic.

“We can get to Coventry before they can.” I said quickly, keeping the nervous excitement in my voice to a minimum. He eyed me cautiously.

“Batman may be trying not to take risks, but we can handle a couple of goons. Besides,” I added. “Red Hood will probably be gone by then. He always is.” I was overselling it; Robin was already standing, eyes roving over the city scape in search of the best route to Coventry. I stood with him, then let the free-fall adrenaline send exciting jolts through my stomach as we grappled toward our destination.

I could see him, in my mind. His face on the docks, bathed with the flame of his lighter. Hear his voice, full of purpose and noble fury as he promised revenge. I understood his cause, but didn’t understand him, and that was the mystery that poisoned my mind and stole my ability to sleep. Not Red Hood. Jason Todd.

*

Robin and I perched over a factory compound on the water’s edge, Sprang River’s lower fork rushing by at the end of the factory court. A handful of men moved like ants in the flooding white lights that lit the exterior. The wind distorted the sounds of their voices. Robin must have had the same thought because he moved soundlessly to a lower roof panel, advancing on the building. I followed. One man began shouting.

“I’m going to the Northern pylon.” Robin whispered. Divide and conquer. I wasn’t going to argue. I kept my eyes on his silhouetted form to ensure he didn’t encounter any resistance on his way, then worked by way around the court, hoping I could get a good idea of the place before he reached his vantage point. The sky was lightening, and we were losing time.

Just as I was about to check the lot on the opposite side of the factory, a metal door swung open, scraping against the metal parapet. Red Hood walked out, accompanied by a man in a factory jumpsuit. I couldn’t make out their conversation.

I crept along the high factory railing as they meandered across the court, deep in conversation. I kept it up for around six minutes before his companion departed, heading for the lot.

“Robin,” I whispered into my comms. “There’s a man heading toward the parking lot. Trail him.”

“I see him.”

With Robin in the Southern parking lot a safe distance away, I watched Red Hood slowly pull away from the lights and people, heading toward the darker exhaust plants East of the court. It became a struggle to keep and eye on him and my footing at the same time, but I did it. He stopped at a motorcycle parked behind an electric turbine about a klick from the factory. The sky was a pale gray now, ever-lightening with the dawn, and the shadows were burning away with it. I lowered by self behind an electrical box attached to one of the turbines.

“We’re en route- wait, Robin-“ The comms rang in my ear.

“I gave you a direct order.” Batman growled.

“It was a stupid order.” Robin clipped.

“Where’s Batgirl?”

Red was about to replace his red helm with a motorcycle helmet, but paused. He seemed to stall for a moment, before calling out.

“Come here, little bird.”

I was more annoyed than anything. I was ready to be a step ahead of him for once. But then, I couldn’t resent him for giving me what I wanted. I stood, and took in his empty hands before approaching. He’d leaned against the metal turbine, arms crossed as he regarded me with an unreadable expression.

“They’re here, you know.” I warned.

“Call ‘em, then. I won’t move. I know I’m good, but I’d be outnumbered. Bad odds.”

I scowled. “I’m not gonna do that.” I said it because he already knew it. We both did. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“You thought about what I said.”

“Of course I did.”

He glanced around, then pulled himself up straight and moved toward me. I took a few steps back, prompting him to flash me his empty hands, raised in surrender.

“Relax, darlin’.” He said. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I don’t want you to be. I want you to understand.”

“How? How do I understand?” I’d been trying for a month. He pulled a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket, holding it out and letting me take it, keeping a safe, considerate distance. Inside, was a number.

“Come with me. One job. Nice and easy.” He said.

“I’m not killing anyone.” I said sternly, voice dropping.

“I’m not askin’ you to.”

“And I’m not standing by and letting you kill anyone.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Fine. We’ll do it clean.” I didn’t even know if I believed him. But I was tired of trying to understand him from a safe, considerate distance.

“We’re almost at location. Four minutes.” Nightwing’s voice almost made me jump. I lifted my eyes.

“You need to go.”

He was already turning on his heel.

*

It was two days before I texted him. I got a glorious three hours of sleep over the course of them, and I kept running down either respective fork in my road before turning around and running back. In the end, I subsided to the fact that I was raised by two business-women, and Jason’s offer was at worst an opportunity. If it all went to shit, and he tried to kill me, I’d at least have some information to present to Bruce, notwithstanding the lifetime of punishment that would get me.

Our rendezvous point was in Lower Gotham Proper. By the time I got there, it was midnight, and a rolling mist had blown in from the harbor, mixing with the smog that hugged the streets and making it nearly unsafe to drive. I silently hoped Batman and Robin were okay.

As I worked my way down a narrow street, the moisture in the air was choking; causing the fabric of my pants and jacket to cling to my skin. I’d almost prefer rain to the way the mist stood still, forcing me to muddle through it. It was dark. The lights and signs on surrounding buildings didn’t seem to be able to preserve through the fog.

I saw a figure pressed against a building that looked tall enough to be Jason. As I approached, we regarded each other’s forms apprehensively. When he tilted his head, I knew it was him. I drew close.

“Jesus.” I mumbled. “Could you have picked a spookier place?”

“Don’t tell me you scare easy.” He said through a cigarette. His helmet was in his hand, but it could’ve easily been mistaken for a motorcycle helmet. The whole get-up was kind of biker-esque. I didn’t answer. Just glanced around.

“Come on.” He said. “It’s not far.”

As we began walking, it struck me how much more relieved I felt to hear his footsteps alongside my own. I was capable; willing and able to fight just about anyone Gotham could conjure up. But still, walking with him was comforting. Like I had someone to watch my back.

We even eased into a bit of conversation. Small things- things we agreed upon. Rich society, and Gotham’s war on the poor. Politicians we wouldn’t mind going missing. If you had showed me his picture next his crime scenes, I wouldn’t have pinned him.

Jason wasn’t unpleasant; it was just that his disposition was highly aloof and somewhat irritable. He had rich bronze skin, and full lips that I was sure made for a charming smile when he decided to do so (not a grin, a smile). The composition of his face was very sharp and neatly symmetrical, but still held some gaunt exhaustion, revealed by the constant tense of his jaw. His attentive dark eyes were almost always narrowed in some fashion of distaste. He never once looked at peace.

It seemed to me that he was disinterested in most anything having to do with my life, other than that he wanted me with him. His entire being was an oxymoron; a juxtaposition of unexpectedly soft and startlingly sharp and there wasn’t a way to tell which it would be.

Finally, we approached a small, industrial building with a neon sign of red, blue, and green.

The Lion’s Den

Burlesque and Drag

I raised my eyebrows. A bit on the nose if you asked me. If the name didn’t give it away, the posters and marquees adorning the brick exterior did.

“We need to talk to someone here before we go.” Jason said, pulling on his helmet, and unzipping his brown leather jacket to showcase the bat.

“Lead on.” I said, pulling up my own mask.

The music was so loud, I could barely hear myself think. The led lights lining the ceiling were cycling warm colors; red, pink, orange, yellow, the glow burning through the smokescreen that was nearly as thick as the mist outside.

Women were dancing, in lace or topless, spinning on poles and otherwise moving gracefully to the heartbeat of the place. But that wasn’t the main event- a stage lit with marquee lights, the centerpiece of which was a table, where three women sat. Their outfits were something out of Marie Antoinette’s personal wardrobe. And that’s where Red Hood was headed.

We walked up onto the stage, and while it all sort of mingled with the dim neon in the rest of the building, I still felt oddly seen. I placed myself behind Red Hood, inserted between him and one of the women. They appeared to be playing cards.

“Well, well.” Said one of the queens, with blonde hair curled and blown out like something out of the 70’s. Her exaggerated, colorful makeup was a work of art- Picasso, perhaps. “Gonna stick around for the show this time, sugar?”

Red sat down, leaning so that his arm rested along the back of the chair, lights glinting off his helm. His relaxed composure made me nervous- but perhaps it was the lack of information.

“Not this time, Trixy.” He answered.

“Pity,” Said the broad redhead beside me, her voice a low, soothing timber. “You neva’ do.”

“Don’t be rude, Sasha.” The third woman scolded, throwing down an Ace of Spades, to the visible dismay of the others. “He’s a busy man.”

“Who’s your friend?” Trixy asked.

I glanced at Red Hood before answering. “Just a little bird.”

“How delightful. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty, shall we?” Trixy said. “Did Dominique get the message to ya?”

“Refresh my memory.” Red Hood said- for my sake, I’m sure.

“Bout a week ago, a bunch of girls from the Row went missin’. Ain’t unusual,” Trixy said darkly, “Most don’t got no family or nothin’. Just us lookin’ out for ‘em. When we run outta beds here, that’s when they go missin’. But it’s different this time. Buncha girls all at once- including one ‘a the queens.”

“Tiffany Spice.” Sasha said, a solemn look on her face. “She was just comin’ into herself. Lord, I’d be devastated if somethin’ happened.”

“Some a’ the row girls been talkin’ about this real shifty fella- Baron Haus. New guy. Used to pimp out girls from the Narrows.”

“And the girls disappeared when he showed up.” I said quietly.

“Bingo.”

“How many?” Red asked.

“About eight, Tiffany included.”

“And you know where he was working from?” I inquired.

“Sha’ do. China Town. Club there called the Moonlight.”

Red Hood nodded. “Anything else me and my little bird should know?”

Trixy thought for a moment. “Baron’s got some friends in GCPD. Had some uncles in the force, or somethin’ of that nature. He’ll be missed. More dead.” She spit the term bitterly.

“They always are.” He responded, getting up from his chair.

“And Hoodie, sugar!” She called after us. “You’re a doll for this.” He didn’t reply. As we worked our way back toward the front, he spoke quietly.

“I thought it’d be better if you met ‘em yourself. Always makes it more personal.”

Batman never did that.

“Do you always make it personal?” I asked.

“It’s not fun if it isn’t.”

The freezing moisture in the air bit fiercely as we pushed open the metal screen door.

“Right.” I said. “So, the Moonlight. How are we getting there?”

“How do you think?” He said, stopping short of a rusted yellow fire escape on the side of the building. He surveyed it, then looked at me.

“Race ya.”

With surprising speed and grace, he scaled the fire escape, no sound in his wake.

“Oh, it’s on.” I fired, rushing to the bars and climbing like they were monkey bars. He disappeared over the edge of the roof, and as I made my way up, I saw him several years away, already conquering another building. I raced toward him, leaping over exhaust pipes until we were high above the fog. The city below looked like an illuminated ocean, twinkling lights just below a pillowy white surface.

I felt like a child again, overwhelmed, nearly brought to giddiness with excitement. Was this how Bruce felt, scaling rooftops with Catwoman? The small, but sure thrill of consorting with the bad guy- knowing that they were consorting with you in return?

I wasn’t a sidekick. There was no line to fall into. No predecessors, no successors, no beginning and no end. I moved like Batgirl across the shingles and concrete and metal scaffolding, but I was weightless without the Bat legacy on my chest. There was something deeply, shamefully freeing about that.

*

We were greeted differently in the Moonlight; a stark contrast to the warm welcome by the queens in the Lion’s Den. It was set up more like a smoky, refined gentlemen’s club. We drew attention from every walk of life inhabiting the bar- men in suits, women in silk, and slimy looking characters that grated offensively against the debonair theme.

Most leered for a moment, then cast their eyes away, like they’d seen something they shouldn’t have. Maybe you could consider Red Hood one of those such things.

“Mr. Hood!” There came a voice, cutting above the orchestral music- Nessun Dorma, if my musical sensibilities were still honed from my piano lesson days. “Welcome, welcome. I can only hope,” The man gave gritting smile, wound tight with visible anxiety. “That you’re here on peaceful business tonight.” He cast his nervous, monolid eyes to me. He was handsome, no older than thirty and wore a tight black vest. I didn’t let my body language give anything away; frankly, I was as in the dark as he was.

“Oh, you know me, Baron Jun,” Red Hood drawled, slowing to a halt at the bar, and leaning on it. “I don’t decide whether things stay peaceful or not. That depends on you.” I stayed standing, near his back, studying the security. Two lumbering men at the entrance, one behind Baron Jun. I wouldn’t put it past curvaceous bartender in red to have a gun, too.

“Lookin’ for Baron Haus. I heard a little rumor he works outta this quaint establishment now.”

When I’d considered the Red Hood’s contacts before, I pictured something like Batman’s relationship with Commissioner Gordon- figuring he had to have some corrupt cops or lowlife sleuths packing him with all his vast information. I never would have guessed it would be three drag queens playing cards.

A conflict passed over Baron Jun’s face, seconds long. “You… heard correctly. Word does seem to travel fast.”

“I need to pay him a visit. Remind him about some of my rules.” He admonished. It was a dripping warning, like the salivating jaws of an animal, teeth bared and pointed.

Baron Jun swallowed. “I see. Well, he um- he’s not actually here, at the moment. Maybe I can tell him you dropped b-“

“You know, Jun,” Red continued, ignoring him. “I got this really funny feeling you know what rules I’m talkin’ about.”

The look on his face was something to behold. I’d seen fear, briefly, on the faces of criminals before I subdued them and went on my way. But this was different. Fear induced by nothing but a conversation. Call it hive-mind, a power trip perhaps, but I felt this pesky sense of camaraderie that prompted me to take a few steps forward, shoulder to shoulder with Red Hood. Who was this vile little shitstain who made his living off men getting laid to play games with us? I thought about eight women, scared and abused. It was Baron Jun’s fault. Baron Haus’ fault. Everyone in this stupid bar, decorated to the taste of the men who abused them.

Baron Jun’s eyes dashed back and forth. Deny or ask forgiveness? I could see him running down those cross roads.

“He… he’s been running some shit I didn’t know about until last night. I swear I didn’t fuckin’ know.” He broke at last.

“Where are they?” I piped up.

“Who the fuck are-“ He was cut off with a bang and a scream as Red shot his knee. I was startled by the noise, but no one seemed to notice. It rang in my ear.

Give a girl a warning next time.

“Be. Fucking. Polite.” Red snapped, now advancing on the Baron. Only one of the three security guards decided it was worth the risk and stepped forward. Electric with the building energy of the whole night, I bolted forward and swung my fist into his throat. He made a choked noise and stumbled to the ground.

“Answer the question, Jun.” Red continued, this time in a taunting, sing-song tone.

“Oh, fuck,” Jun whimpered, cradling his knee. “Jesus- you- you shot me.”

“Always were a sharp one. I got a couple more bullets, and you’ve got another knee. So why don’t you sing before I get really impatient.”

“Christ.. they- they’re in the back. R-room fourteen.” His breath was labored with pain. I didn’t feel bad. Trusting that Red would handle the front and keep his promise of not killing anyone, I went to the back hallway, counting the doorways before reaching room 14. I made short work of the lock.

Some scuffling noises could be heard from the front room- but no further gunfire. I opened the door to reveal a velvet lounge, with red settees and satin curtains, along with fearful eyes looking back at me. I counted eight heads, including Tiffany Spice, who’d since abandoned his wig and gaudy attire. His make-up was streaked with long-dried tears.

“Tiffany Spice?” I asked, subservient to standard protocol despite my evening of rebellion.

“What’s going on out there?”

“Trixy sent us. You’re safe now.”

“Are the Barons gone?”

“They’re being dealt with.” I answered.

After finding them, the rest fell into place quickly. Red had indulged in some property destruction, and Baron Jun now reckoned with what appeared to be a shattered hand and some extra facial bruising.

I nodded briskly to Red and he, in turn, nodded to the bartender, who ushered the girls around.

Before departure, he knelt down in front of the Baron.

“You’re alive,” He said lowly. “Cause I’m doin’ someone a favor. If someone breaks the rules again,” He reached over and patted Jun’s pained face. “You be a good boy and come right to me. Okay?” Jun didn’t respond, nor take his bloodshot eyes off of his mangled hand, but Red straightened anyway and ushered me to the door.

Outside, we withdrew safely and quietly to a rooftop.

“Why did we leave them?” I asked.

“Trixy’s not my only contact. The bartender’s mine. She’ll get ‘em where they need to be.”

A beat.

“You knew Baron Haus wasn’t gonna be there.” I said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the only reason you promised me you wouldn’t kill anyone.”

Hesitation. “Yeah, it is.”

“Are you gonna track him down?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Seriously.” I tried again. He sighed, then looked at me. I was seeing his eyes clearly for maybe the first time all night. It was sobering, and he held my gaze.

“Yes. Yes, I’m going to kill him.” He said firmly. I looked away.

“He’s got a track record.” He explained. “Does shit like this, gets caught, and then uses his friends in blue to get a lighter sentence. Three months, maybe. Then, he’s back. I’m not the first one to catch him. But I promise you, I’ll be the fuckin’ last.” His vitriol was oil on concrete, and I decided it was better not to light any matches. The rest of the walk was quiet, neither of us making the catalytic initiative to part ways, coming down from the adrenaline the way we’d built it; in each other’s uncertain company.

*

We settled on top of St. Luke’s Hospital, towering defiantly amidst the smaller, crowded inner city neighborhoods below. It was 4am, but I wasn’t tired. Quite the opposite; I was awash with energy, by grace of the night’s feat and the biting cold. Jason had pulled his helmet off, and was leaning against the steel exhaust pipe, myself nestled at his side.

“I have another place I need to go. Three days- Mafia business in Little Italy.” He said.

“And you want me to come?” I asked. He tipped his head.

“What can I say, doll? You’re good at this.”

I looked over the city, brow furrowing.

“Unless,” He added in a low voice, wry and challenging. “You think it’s wrong. I am the bad guy, aren’t I?”

I didn’t look at him, because I knew he was wearing a darkly arrogant expression, and I didn’t want to see it. No, there was nothing wrong about what we did tonight. Even if there was; I’d do it all again for the relief on Tiffany’s tear-streaked face.

“I’ll go.” I said. “But you have to tell me something. Honestly.” I said firmly, bringing my eyes to meet his. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Ask away.”

“Why me? Why don’t you hate me like you hate them?” Them. My family. Our family. Hate seemed a harsh word, but only after I supplied it, was I reminded of its truth. Jason studied me for a few agonizing moments, allowing only the sound of wind and distant, crying sirens.

“Carolyn Crawford.” He finally said.

“What?”

Carolyn Crawford.

I’d forgotten all about her. My life was sort of divided by this giant, barbed wire fence between before adoption and after adoption. Evidently, my brain decided that anything before adoption would be better of folded up, sealed with wax, and filed away. Traumatic memory suppression, the shrink Bruce sent me to called it- even though the only traumatic thing was the night my parents died, not everything that came before.

Nonetheless, Carolyn Crawford was somebody I hadn’t given any particular thought to in a long time. She was a woman of forty (at the time I was thirteen), and she had that snooty, Diamond District disposition that you only find in women who marry into wealth, but aren’t born with it. She was beautiful; pale skin, thin, with an air of 1950’s suave, accentuated by the auburn bob of artificial curls she always wore. Her husband was an investor in Wayne Enterprises, and she was sleeping with Bruce.

I had no reason to know, or care about this. But Jason did. When he found out, he was uncharacteristically devastated. I could imagine, in retrospect, that when you’re a boy of fifteen and you find out the man who adopted you- a man who was a holyfigure in your eyes, the good guy- was sleeping with a married woman ten years his senior, you may experience a bit of devastation. He had something, some virtuous perception of Bruce, ripped away from him, and he was given a concept that his father, too, had vices. His one vice; women.

Jason was angry. He wanted the world’s perception of Bruce to crumble alongside his own, and so he took all the valor in his teenage body and enacted his own justice.

An anonymous email was sent to just about every company partner or investor, including Carolyn’s husband, and my parents, disclosing a picture of Bruce in some secluded room at a gala, with his arm around Carolyn’s waist, leaning intimately into her ear. She had a wry smile on her face. Above the photo was a single tag line.

“Carolyn Crawford is fucking Bruce Wayne.”

My parents gossiped about the email, of course, when they thought I wasn’t leaning against the office door. But that was all I ever knew about it. Apparently Carolyn’s husband didn’t divorce her, but he did cut her off financially, which may as well have been the same loss.

That was all I heard of it, up until a charity event on a particularly cold January night. The January before Jason’s death. I was waltzing around as per usual, a cup of punch in my hand. Waiting for the clock to tick its way to eleven o’clock- when I knew my mothers would want to depart so they could get up for work the next morning. The music was lovely; fluttering strings.

“You!” It was a harsh sound, like a shrieking banshee, or the whining note of a violin when all the bow hairs are frayed.

Carolyn Crawford was marching right toward Jason, fury on her beautiful face. I didn’t catch the beginning of the conversation as I tried to make my way through the bodies, of which a few were also alarmed by the sound.

“...you’re the only one who could’ve done it, you little- don’t lie to me!”

Jason was defiant there, with his arms crossed and his lip slightly raised, but I could tell by the nervous look in his eye that she was pointing her bony finger at the right suspect. I’m certain it was Bruce who figured it out.

“What the hell are you talking about, lady?” He said.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know you sent that email. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“You’re outta your mind.”

“You’re going to regret this, I promise. I’m going to make sure that this follows you-“

“He didn’t send the email!” I said, pushing past a man who was eagerly watching, like it was the best thing he’d seen all night. I’m not even sure what possessed me to offer up the statement- maybe the way she was throwing her venom in his face and jabbing her finger at his chest.

“I did it.” I said. I didn’t look at Jason, but from the corner of my eye, I could see his mouth fall open. Carolyn Crawford turned on me.

“What?”

“I sent the email.” I said. We’d drawn more observers now, a small, hushed crowd of people too polite to intervene, but too curious to look away.

“Who the hell are you? And why would you do that?” Up close, I could see that she looked like she hadn’t slept. Other little things too; a pearl out place, stray hairs. She’d probably been through hell since Jason sent that email.

I leveled my gaze on her. “You really need to ask? What kind of wife-“

Slap.

Her open palm swung across my cheek so hard that I nearly stumbled into a donation table. There was a pressure in my ear, and then a stinging sensation. I put my hand to my cheek, and when I looked back up at her, she was eyeing the shocked crowd. Then, she turned, and walked briskly toward the exit, heels clicking on the marble.

Everyone stood there, looking at me. I flushed, shrinking under the weight of their eyes, feeling like an animal in a zoo. My mothers were nowhere to be found, and neither was Bruce.

In a swift movement, Jason grabbed my hand, shooting angry glares like daggers toward anyone who was looking, and ushered me into a secluded corner.

“Why did you do that? What the hell is wrong with you?” He whispered frantically, obviously battling whether he should touch my face or not. He decided not.

I gave him an insulted look. “I was helping you, jackass!”

“Well, you didn’t help!” He said, before adding, more exasperatedly. “You just got hurt.”

I shrugged, taking my hand off my cheek, probably to show him some modicum of strength, or defiance. “It’s not that bad.”

It was that bad. It was the first time I had ever been hit, by anybody. I actually wanted to cry. But I was dedicated to my tough girl role, so I didn’t.

“I’m sorry.” He said, surprising me with the fearful apologeticism in his voice. “I’m really sorry- you shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve said something. I just fuckin’ stood there like-“

“Hey! It’s okay. I did it because I wanted to. Besides, it really doesn’t matter who did what. She’s just mad she ruined her own marriage.”

He shook his head and slunk down beside me on the cold marble. The AC was offensively imposing for the middle of January, and I hugged my knees to my chest as we watched the guests disperse, dragging back the events of the night to gossip about later, like foxes carry prized rabbits.

*

“Carolyn Crawford?” I repeated. “That’s what this is about?”

Jason gave me a wiry look, a lopsided smile, then threw his head back and laughed, contagiously so. I let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“I mean,” He added, “Not all of it. A little.” There was residual laughter in his tone, and it made me want to lean into him.

“A ‘little’. Okay. Should I be getting in touch with Carolyn Crawford and thanking her for rekindling this little partnership?”

“Yeah.” He said. “Send her an email.”

I laughed again. “Seriously, Jason, what the fuck are you talking about?”

His grin lingered, and his eyes fell over the city. I could see the gears turning as he considered his response. Then he just shrugged.

“You covered for me.”

“Yeah.”

“And...” He leaned back, not taking his eyes from the sprawling lights. “Somethin’ tells me you still are.”

I looked at him for a while, trying to wait him out and make him elaborate. But he didn’t. I resigned with a sigh.

“Yeah, well.” I mumbled. “Carolyn Crawford was a giant bitch.” His lips fought a losing battle against another smile.

“Personally, I’m still a little impressed she had the gall to slap you.”

“Haha. Hey- did you actually take that picture?”

He shook his head, hesitating before adding. “Dick did.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” He chuckled.

“So I took the fall for both of you.”

“Yeah, you did, Princess.”

He had this familiar, juvenile grin stuck to his face. And for the first time in a long, long time, he was Jason Todd.

#batfam #batman daughter #batsister #batsis #batgirl reader #batgirl #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd #red hood imagine #red hood x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood #batsis x tim drake #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #damian al ghul #bruce wayne #batman #batsis x batfamily #batsis x dick grayson #barbara gordon #nightwing #red robin #batfamily imagine

[pachitoherrera]

Pacho // safe – pt.1

na/n: alright my darling friends a while back i got a request for some protectove pacho and you all seem to be on board with that so voilá i tried my best! somehow it was really hard to write protective pacho but there is a second part coming for a recent request! i left it open for you to decide what kind of relationship pacho and reader have in this one. i hope you enjoy it xx

The soft melody of ‘El Ratón’ was echoing through the room as you sat on the couch, having carefully picked the spot where the breeze blew from open window to door, cooling down the tiny pearls of sweat that had formed on your temples. The average temperature in Cali fluctuated only slightly over the year, however, this month seemed to be trying to outperform the others in terms of heat. 

Drink in your hand still, your eyes were fixed on Pacho’s back while he casually flicked through your extensive record collection. For a moment, you allowed your thoughts to drift, admiring his well-groomed appearance and the fact that he seemed to be incapable of sweating, never mind the weather conditions. 

“I am shocked by the amount of gringo music you own”, he said without looking up, bringing your mind back to the moment and reminding you of the suspiciousness that was brooding inside you. The behaviour he exhibited – avoiding your eyes, drabbling in nonchalant actions – was unusual to you, as most of the time, it was you that was fidgeting while he was the one calmly watching. Now the roles were reversed, and you were anxious to know what was bothering him that he tried to put off.

“Did you come all the way here just to judge my taste in music?”

He stopped his movements. “No.” The tone in his voice changed as he turned around to face you, lips pressed together. With the familiar click of the lighter, he lit his cigarette and sat down on the armchair opposite to you. "I need you to leave the country for a bit.“ The aftermath of his words was lingering in the air as you were trying to stay calm, once your surprise had settled. “Why?”, you asked, although already suspecting the answer. The past weeks’ events hadn’t gone unnoticed by you.

“Things may get dirty soon. It’s just for your safety. See it as a vacation, maybe take Alvaro with you.” 

You leaned forward to place your glass on the table between the two of you – a simple action to stall time while searching for a way to explain how ridiculous his request was. “I am not going to leave the country because you decided to anger Colombia’s most dangerous man, Pacho.” Your words were met by a wry smile, and this time he leaned forward to grab your glass and take a sip of the sweet liquid. “Not for long, the situation will be resolved soon.” 

You scoffed at his words, not making a secret of the knowledge about his involvement with los pepes – and your distaste towards it. Fighting fire with fire was never a solution, this was common knowledge taught to every child. Yet, men in power did not seem to possess this knowledge, or deliberately chose to ignore it. 

“And then what? You will make yourself a new enemy, that’s how this business works, that’s how you work. And if not another drug trafficker, then the DEA. Safety will never be an option for us, you know that yourself. We signed up for this, a one-way ticket to a dangerous destination with no returns.”

He took a drag of his cigarette, followed by a long exhale, and it was at this moment that you realized how tired he looked, dark circles on the skin under his eyes, only faint but noticeable. 

“Pablo Escobar is killing our men”, he said calmly. Nothing to hint at the anger that you knew was there. “And I have no doubts that when things get more intense, he will try to hit us where it hurts most. We must be prepared.” “By running away?”, you asked almost mockingly, only to have an immediate wave of regret for your harsh tone sweeping over you. Although you were annoyed that he tried to send you away, that he didn’t see how you would never leave for a safe haven while he was in danger, you knew this was his way of showing that he cared. 

“By minimizing the number of weak spots that provide surface to attack.” 

“I don’t want to argue with you, Pacho. But what you’re asking of me is impossible.” 

His jaw tensed as he looked away. It was these uncontrolled micro-movements that made you worry, his elsewhere composed self now cracking to offer a glimpse of what lay beyond his flamboyant speeches.  Your shared history reached far back for you to know that this was a sign of genuine worry, a sign that he was truly bothered by the situation he had no control over.

He stood up, moving to the window to look outside, another method of trying to avoid your gaze. “That man is an animal with no sense of decency. He kills children, he knows no boundaries.” 

You walked up to him, relaxing the weight of your head on his back. The smooth and cool texture of his silk shirt feeling nice on your heated face. Immediately, you could feel some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I don’t know whether I should be angry that you consider me a weak spot”, you murmured, trying to brighten the heavy atmosphere. To your delight, a vibration went through his body, indicating a silent chuckle on his side, and evoking a smile on yours. „Don’t worry, Pacho. Everything will be fine”, you said.

The screams are only a muffled noise, drowned out by the blood that thrums and pounds in your ears. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t tell whether it is because of the smoke that fills the room and wraps everything in a subtle veil, or the tears that are forming in your eyes for a reason unknown to you. Sharp pain in your head causes you to place your fingers on your hairline and you realize that the source of the wetness in your eyes is not your tears, but the blood that is dripping down your forehead.  

But it doesn’t matter.

Your feet slowly carry you through the maze of debris. Vegetatively, as if it is not you that is giving the orders, an invisible force moving you towards a destination you don’t know yet. The smell of burned furnishings, mixed up with something you don’t want to think of, is polluting the air and snuggling around you, creeping up your respiratory tract.

There is a woman, weeping next to the body of a man, begging him to wake up, but even in your hazy state and from the distance, you can tell he won’t. 

Your left foot gets caught in something out of your field of view and with a dull sound you land on the ground, extending your hands just in time to catch your body from hitting the hard floor panel. You turn around to inspect the cause of your fall and halt. The urge to throw up raises strongly as you just sit still, unable to draw your gaze away from the lifeless body with the fancy suit and the white shirt now soaked in deep red.

Your numbness is abruptly gone, like a veil that is forcefully lifted from before your eyes, and all emotions hit you at once. Your body now trembling, limbs so weak that you are certain you would collapse if you weren’t already on the floor. An inner voice is shouting at you to get up, to keep going, but you can’t. You want to scream back that you can’t, but when you open your mouth, only a dry coughing fit leaves your throat.

Suddenly, strong arms lift you slowly back to your feet, one hand at your waist to stabilize you, while the other cups your face to slightly turn it sideways. It takes you a few seconds to recognize the handsome face that is examining the source of your headache. Relief strikes like a hammer blow, bringing tears to your eyes that have been missing in this chaos. For the first time, you want to cry, let it all out. The shock, the surprise, the fear. But you don’t want to give him another reason to worry, and so you swallow down the lump in your throat. 

While Pacho examines the source of your headache, you carefully observe him. Dark eyes widened, filled with a panic that is new to you. His hair falling in his face, his hands slightly shaking. But he doesn’t seem hurt. You send silent words of gratitude towards the heavens.  

“Pacho”, you whisper, because it’s the only thing that comes to your mind, and it’s the only thing that matters to you at this moment. “It’s alright.” His familiar voice – strong and controlled – gives you a feeling of security as he tightens the grip around your waist. “Let’s get you out of here, everything will be fine.” 

#it's been 3000 years #narcos #pacho herrera x reader #narcos imagine #pacho herrera #m;writings #was a bit struggling with this one but i hope you like it anyway!!

[herradhighpriestess]

Artificially Sweetened Sodomy

Chapter Three: Whores are Easier to Deal With

Kari pressed her lips together, wincing as she compressed the broken skin as she considered the weight of her situation. “What do I do?” her mind asked on a scream.

Tig nearly choked on the cloud of his exhaled smoke as he watched her pink tongue dart out and moisten her lips.

He was mesmerized by the small movement and didn’t realize at first that she was nodding slightly.

“You’re sure you’re not going to be a problem?” he asked and tried to maintain a cool façade.

Kari nodded again, a little stronger this time.

“Yeah?” he asked as he cocked an inky black eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Kari finally mumbled and rubbed her fingertips against her throbbing temples. She longed for her mostly effective rapid-release migraine medication as she was certain her skull was splitting at the seams.

She looked over when a metallic tinkling noise fell around her ears and she found her abductor holding out a dented flask towards her.

“No thanks,” she finally said and sat up straighter in the seat, thinking alcohol wouldn’t do any good for her head except make her pay less attention and notice details that might be important for later.

Tig pretended to not notice her barely suppress a flinch when he moved away from the door and pulled on the plastic handle. “Where’s the tracker?” he asked as he patted the seat between them.

“There’s no point in denying it,” she thought in the small space before she answered. “Behind the water pump,” Kari mumbled as she stared straight ahead, feeling his eyes memorizing her, practically touching her with the weight of his gaze.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he pulled a warm soda from the nylon bag and held it out to her.

“Thanks,” she murmured and took the brightly colored aluminum can from him, careful to avoid their fingers brushing against each other.

“We’ll get out of here in a minute,” he murmured, and she watched him slide out of the sturdy vehicle and pop the broad hood.

Kari found herself gulping the soda as Tig removed and destroyed the government-issued tracker and did a once-over the rest of the SUV before getting back behind the wheel and cranking the large engine to life.

Tig glanced over his shoulder at her as she drummed her fingers on the tops of her thighs and stared down at the floor. He felt a strange sensation slide around inside his gut and light up his central nervous as he found her fingers bare, devoid of any jewelry. “Do you belong to someone?” he thought before he spoke.

“You want to sit up here Agent Stillwater, it’s a little bit of a drive.”

Kari shook her head. “I’m okay here and please no more Agent stuff, can you just call me Kari?”

The pull of his lips into an unreadable smile both frightened and made Kari have a glut of questions.

“As long as you call me Tig,” he murmured as he turned around further in the driver’s seat and they locked eyes.

“What?” Kari finally asked as his expression remained neutral and he remained silent. She wasn’t sure if she should feel like prey on the Serengeti or a pilot fish living symbiotically with a Great White shark.

Tig shook his head. “Nothing,” he muttered as he got the bulky vehicle moving and eventually spilled back onto the interstate.

Kari kept her hands clasped together in her lap as he pushed the accelerator to a comfortable cruising speed, careful to not draw the attention of the CHP.

Tig kept nervously moving his hands around the steering wheel as he kept glancing up at her in the rearview mirror.

She shifted uncomfortably on the seat, her multiple layers and Kevlar vest making her sweat profusely, her anxiety leeched from her pores and she could smell how unpleasantly fragrant she was becoming.

Tig felt his chest tighten when his name fell from her lips.

“Tig?”

He looked up in the mirror and met her eyes. “Yes?”

Kari cleared her throat. “Can I have one of those cigarettes?”

“Yeah, here,” he said and passed her the pack and dark green lighter.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, eager to have the acrid cigarette smoke to drown out her body odor.

Tig noticed how she began shifting on the seat as she took slow, deliberate drags off the cigarette. He heard her chuckle and quickly cover her smile when she caught him looking.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

Kari shook her head and retrieved the empty soda can off the floorboard to flick her ashes into. “Just when I thought I was finally going to stop smoking.”

As Tig paid better attention to the sudden stoppage of traffic, back at the Wit Sec house, agents and local police swarmed. Doors were kicked in and windows ripped off in questioning everyone about the abducted agent.

As agents descended on Charming and looked everywhere for their missing agent, Tig continued towards the cheap motel and long-term rentals, at one point, he dumped the Yukon and stole a paneled van, nearly beige with the layer of dirt. Kari slid onto the passenger seat, not wanting to sit on the bare, metal floor of the rear of the van.

They were about half an hour from the motel, Kari had lapsed into a comfortable silence as she stared out the window at everything moving by. “Talk to her,” Tig ordered himself as he glanced over at her, he considered that she was most likely in some kind of medical shock.

“How long you been working ATF?” Tig finally asked, drawing out his words.

Kari glanced over at him and pulled one of the three remaining cigarettes from the pack and offered him one of his own. He accepted and watched her light hers before she offered her lit one in trade for his.

Tig made sure their fingers brushed and felt a static shock as he pulled hard on the filter her lips had just been touching, tasting her breath.

“Just passed the one-year mark, from what I’ve heard, the Wit Sec babysitting is a hazing of sorts,” she said as she shook her head and rolled down the window a few inches, letting the brisk, clean outside suck in her second-hand smoke.

“What was the original plan when you got there? The witness?” Kari asked while he inhaled and signaled for the off-ramp.

Tig ignored her question and looked at the directions he had jotted on a burger chain napkin.

The motel appeared on the left side and was very underwhelming. The faded blue long-term condos were set in the rear of the property and their room was apparently on the ground-floor corner.

Happy’s friends had someone’s nephew go and check-in at the motel under the false name and stolen credit card. The parking spot for the room was just out of the security camera’s entire sweep and the video was recorded over every twenty-four hours.

Tig put the van in park and looked over at Kari as she looked out the windshield at the piss poor room.

She barely suppressed a finch when his hand fell over her hand where it rested on the armrest.

“It’s a short walk to the room, I’m going to come around and open your door,” Tig murmured.

Kari nodded as he added. “There won’t be any problem getting to the door?”

“I will not be a problem,” she said in a strained voice and stared at the room door through the bug-splattered windshield.

Tig tightened his hand around hers as he spoke, “look at me.”

Kari pressed her lips together and turned her head to meet his startling blue eyes. “No problem?” he rasped musically.

“None,” she whispered and fought the urge to try and yank her hand free.

Tig nodded and released his hold on her before getting out of the van, gathering the duffle bags, and opening her door.

Kari climbed out of the van and waited until he pushed the heavy door closed before following him to the room. He slid the plastic keycard until it beeped and flashed a series of green flashes before he pushed the door open.

She followed him inside and fumbled for a light switch and flooded the room with a wan yellow light. Tig pushed the door closed and slid the extra chain lock in place, in addition to the deadbolt.

He watched Kari look around the dingy room, pale yellow carpets and faux wood paneling the single room, extra sitting space in front of an older model flatscreen tv, closet and small bathroom with a cramped tub and shower.

Tig watched her eyes move over the single queen bed in the middle of the room before she briefly met his eyes and turned her attention to looking for the remote control and the local news. “It’s really cold in here,” she remarked as she flipped though the channels.

“These rooms are generally rented at hourly rates, no one cares about the temperature,” he said and winked when she looked over at him.

Kari settled in the creaky chair and adjusted the volume when the commercial break was over.

Tig took the time to walk into the small bathroom and dial Clay.

Clay picked up at the end of the first ring.

“Brother, you okay?”

Tig leaned against the door frame so he could keep Kari in sight as he half-smiled. “It’s okay, got to the motel, thank Happy.”

“Do you have a guest with you?”

Tig chuckled, “yeah.”

“Is she alive?”

“Very.”

“Is she going to stay that way?”

“Yes.”

Clay was silent for a minute. “Good,” he finally said. “Do you need more money?”

Tig shook head as he answered, “no, I’d like to get stay here a night or two and keep north.”

“Are you coming back brother?”

Tig gave a ragged sigh and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I’ve found something,” he added unhelpfully.

“You always have a home here brother, I hope to meet this something someday. Call if you need anything,” Clay added before he ended the call.

Tig pushed his phone in his back pocket as he watched Kari watch the news and casually loosen her braid until she could run her fingers through her tangled hair.

Kari looked over at him when the loud thump of his boots sounded as he kicked them off before slipping out of his jacket.

Tig stretched out on the bed and slipped one hand behind his head before he patted the empty space next to him when he caught her staring.

Kari scoffed and worked on a stubborn tangle when he patted the bed again.

“No,” she finally said and turned her attention back to the shitty tv screen and pretended to be captivated by the weather report of sunny skies the following day.

“I thought you weren’t going to be a problem,” Tig said and sat up when she turned back to him, anger etched in her tired face. “I’m not but I’m not getting into that bed with you.”

Tig’s mind tried to rapidly put together an approach. He reached for his discarded jacket and drained the flask, wincing as the alcohol burned a hot path down his throat and spread warmth throughout his chest and belly. “You need to do this right,” his mind warned and climbed to his feet.

As Tig rose from the bed, Kari also stood from the creaky chair, tension filling her, a cold trickle moved down the length of her spine.

Tig held his hands up in the air and wiggled his fingers. “I promise I’ll keep my hands wherever you tell me, but you need to get in the fucking bed.”

Kari shook her head, her blood pressure rising as she found it hard to breathe with the compression of the vest. She felt herself getting overheated despite how chilly the room was.

Tig’s eyes moved over her face, he could practically see the coiled tension inside her, electricity building and threatening to shoot from her fingers.

“You gotta keep this shit together,” he thought and kept his hands outstretched. “Get in the bed, you have to be tired. I’m not going to do anything out of line.”

Kari narrowed her eyes at him, unable to judge the veracity of his words since he was there to kill that young witness. She fought to keep her shoulders back despite the appeal of laying down and closing her eyes, especially getting out of the fucking vest.

“What if I wanted to stay in that chair instead?” she asked, her voice steady.

Tig shook his head, “it’ll be cold sitting up all night.”

“I’ll risk freezing to death.”

“I can’t have that happen; a dead ATF agent isn’t good.”

“Kidnapping and assault is fine though?” she asked on a scoff.

Tig stood up taller, every moment spent with Kari reaffirming why he liked dealing with whores, livestock and the comatose.

#SOA #sons of anarchy #tig trager #tig trager x OC #tig x oc #violence #language #assault #drugs #alcohol #smoking #something sure to offend that I've neglected to mention #jax teller #tara knowles #gemma teller #samcro #chuckie #chibs telford #juice ortiz #clay morrow #Teller-Morrow #teller morrow #bobby munson #ATF #atf agent #abduction

[the8thsphynx]

*Insert Seinfeld Slap Bass*

Prologue | Chapter 1 |

Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjquez, Kugo Ginjo, Kukaku Shiba, Kisuke Urahara, Ichigo Kurosaki, Shukuro Tsukishima Pairings: Grimmjow/Ginjo, Kisuke/Yoruichi Genre: Comedy, Romance, Family, Government Espionage Warnings: Mature language, s3xual humor, fighting/violence, alcohol, mentions of death, rap battles with government officials

Chapter 1:

‘Shaking a Bag of Catfood Outside of the Shiba Residence’

The air on the outskirts of the Rukon District always had a lighter feel to it. Kukaku had seldom stepped away from her fireworks shop to enter the inner districts by the Seireitei ever since her brother’s passing, but even so she would occasionally indulge herself by standing outside of the Shiba manor to take in the sight of the mountain-like structure in the distance. The wind blew gently through the field of grass and Kukaku cursed herself for not wearing her prosthetic arm today to help protect her smoking pipe.

Through the whistling of the wind, she heard the front doors of the manor clatter open and someone approach her. By the familiar light jingling of a silver chain, she identified her visitor without even turning her head.

“I’m taking it by how soon you’re back, you couldn’t fix it?” she remarked with a puff of tobacco smoke.

The voice that replied was deep and male, “Don’t know what to tell you. I said I’m not familiar with pyrotechnic equipment since I worked with cars.”

Kukaku waved dismissively at him with her right stump, “Bah, I already told you not to try and explain that modern living world stuff to me. If you can’t fix my launcher then I guess I gotta pay someone to look at it. Anyways, did you let the cat in, yet?”

There was a pause from her visitor, followed by a shallow and sharp breath. Removing her kiseru from her mouth and flicking the ashes into the wind, Kukaku turned to face him and raised one eyebrow.

“You didn’t hear me or something, Ginjo?” she said with smoke coming from between her teeth, “I like that cat. I like his regular visits. Almost as nice to have come by as Yoruichi. Has he come by yet and have you let him in?”

Kugo Ginjo tossed a rag blotched with black stains over his shoulder and looked away from Kukaku, “Yeah, and I told you he’s irritating as hell.”

The head of the Shiba clan stuck her pipe between her teeth and wrinkled her nose, “Gotcha. Hang on before I go through with your request, lemme find the slip of paper that says you pay the rent to have an opinion over me.”

The chutzpah in Kugo fractured and by the twitch of his eye and clench of his jaw he knew he was backed into a verbal wall. He fixed the collar of the haori that the Shibas had lent him as he bit his tongue to avoid saying something he shouldn’t to the head of the household.

Unfortunately, with being ‘dead’, that meant he had come to the Soul Society with the clothes he had died in and nothing else. When Kukaku took him and his other two companions in, she offered him clothes that resembled a Meiji-era style, but unfortunately for Kugo this was the closest to ‘modern’ the styles got outside of very expensive custom-made clothing orders. This particular outfit was a fern green kimono with a scale pattern and a dark grey haori. Not that Kugo had any room to complain to begin with, but at least this one was bearable to wear.

As he opened his mouth to respond to her, the front door clattered open again and two men nearly double his size in twin uniforms disregarded his presence completely and bellowed to Kukaku like two henchmen to a yakuza boss.

“MY LADY, WE HAVE FOUND THE CAT IN THE EQUIPMENT STORAGE ROOM TODAY,” they thundered, “SHALL WE BRING HIM TO THE PARLOUR, MA’AM?”

Kukaku flickered her slate grey eyes from the giant men to Kugo and gave a wink, silently flaunting her intuition for the ‘cat’ having just arrived. She flicked the ashes in her kiseru into the wind again and began moving back inside of the Shiba manor, on the way smacking Kugo’s arm with the back of her hand.

“Storage room?” she mused, then waved her hand, “Nah, I’ll meet him there. Probably was looking for this guy, anyways. Koganehiko and Shiroganehiko, set things up for us in the parlour and we’ll be up shortly. Come along and help me greet our guest with me, Ginjo.”

One of the guards held out an open box with a fitted silk interior to Kukau and the other a small ceramic bowl with a wooden lid. To the ceramic pot Kukaku dumbed the rest of her ashes from the pipe and then carefully placed her kiseru in the silk-lined box. After closing the containers, the two giant men bowed to her and then went off back inside of the manor with shockingly light footsteps for their stature. 

Kugo grimaced and followed behind her down a flight of stairs, “...Hey, at least he didn’t end up outside like the first few times.”

The Shiba residence was certainly a fascinating structure; from the outside it looked like little more than a shack aside from Kukaku’s gaudy, ever-changing outdoor decorations and the massive sealed ‘chimney’. Directly inside, however, there was a staircase that lead to a labyrinth of lower levels, lit by a strange light-emitting herb that the Shibas planted inside of the walls and left open with shelf-like holes in the ceilings.

She lead Kugo to a specific sliding door on left hand side in the middle of the hall. The rest of the doors were normal, everyday-average sliding doors, but this one had a window beside it with a panel in place that said ‘CLEAR’ likewise with an opposite side that would say ‘WORK IN PROGRESS’. This was where Kukaku and her pyrotechnics team would construct, prepare, and store every manner of launchers, mounts, or casings for fireworks that were ordered. Despite the sign currently displaying ‘CLEAR’, Kukaku still knocked.

“Heeeyyyy, Grimmjow!”she called as she began pushing the door open, “You in here? We’re coming in!”

Being perfectly content with his distance from the room, Kugo had remained behind Kukaku with his gaze fixed into a half-annoyed glare looking away from the storage room door. It wasn’t that he outright hated Grimmjow, it was just… well…

The sound of the wooden door clattering open was enough to cover the sound and of course neither of the two were paying attention to their surroundings, so a black figure was able to successfully swing down from a hole in the ceiling where the light-emitting herbs were.

“VIBE CHECK.”

Perhaps it was his keen intuition or his reflexes honed from nearly two decades of combat, but Kugo was just barely able to catch an assailant’s foot before it came in contact with his head. In the space contained in a half-second, Kugo turned from confusion to burning irritation. Gritting his teeth, he yanked his attacker’s leg towards him, throwing them off-balance and sending them to the ground. Without missing a beat, Kugo used his free arm to come down with his forearm full-force on the attacker’s neck; they were just as fast as he was, though, and threw one arm up to brace the blow as they were slammed intot he ground with a residing ‘THUD’.

Kukaku was frozen for a moment at hearing the attack behind her, but then turned on her heels and snapped at the two, “GOD DAMMIT, I SAID NONE OF THAT IN THE HOUSE.”

Kugo didn’t look up at her, instead keeping an unamused scowl at the being below him. Bright blue eyes like lightning stared back at him and were paired with a grin more animal-like than human.

“Heheheh. You’re gettin’ slower,” a gravelly voice chuckled, “Careful, all you need is one misstep and you die, Ginjo.”

The fullbringer grit his teeth, “You’re a little late for that, Grimmjow.”

Kukaku slapped her one hand against the wall, making a noise loud enough that the two men separated begrudgingly and stood on their feet. The humanoid being that stood before Kugo was very clearly not human; not persay for his wild blue hair or the jawbone mask on his cheek, but for the air about him… a look in his cobalt eyes that gave the sensation that you weren’t talking with another person so much as facing a wild animal. What was it that Tsukishima told Kugo this feeling was…? Ah, right, the ‘uncanny valley’; a survival instinct in humans to recognize something that looks like a human but isn’t.

Kugo knew the origins of Grimmjow and what he was classified as, though, as thanks to Tsukishima-- his former mentee and current fellow guest of the Shibas--having used his complicated ability to see into others’ pasts to learn about Hollows, arrancars, and the Espada from others who had encountered him. Of course he couldn’t register Grimmjow as a person, for the pure fact that Grimmjow was the end of a long chain of congregation, mutation, and evolution of thousands of Hollows-- dead and forsaken or vengeful souls that became one person with their own unique personalities, typically with a lack of human emotion or empathy. It wasn’t as though Kugo was completely disgusted in such an existence, though; after all, a Hollow was the only reason that he was born with his own particular powers.

“Did you bring me my delivery, Grimms?” Kukaku piped up, holding out her one arm and beckoning for the blue haired man.

Grimmjow kept his eyes locked on Kugo and wore a flat expression while  fixing his short jacket and collar. Still maintaining eye contact, he reached inside of his black zip-up shirt and retrieved a white envelope packed full and thick.

“Right here for ya,” Grimmjow responded, “And you can uphold your end of this deal, right, Shiba woman?”

Kugo blinked at the arrancar and then turned to shoot Kukaku a questioning glare. He was no stranger to deals of a certain nature happening regularly outside of the club or even down the street from where he lived, and typically he didn’t care, but… was this really what was happening between Grimmjow and Kukaku? She didn’t seem like that kind of person.

...However, she seemed to ignore Kugo completely as she grinned back at Grimmjow and rested her hand on her hip.

“That’s a good man,” she nodded, “Knew I could count on ya to deliver for me. Alright, now before we talk this out let me get you upstairs and settled into the parlour. It ain’t right for me as lady of the Shiba clan to not treat a business partner with hospitality. You hungry, Grimmjow?”

Kukaku didn’t wait for a response before turning around and heading back down the hallway. The arrancar gave Kugo another glance, warranting another small scowl from Kugo which caused Grimmjow to smirk. Folding his arms behind his head and locking his fingers in place, Grimmjow meandered down the hall in the same direction as Kukaku.

He scoffed, “I told ya I don’t need to eat human food unless I’m in a gigai. Although… if you’re offering to feed me regardless, you ain’t gonna like what I tell you I can eat.”

Kukaku waved her hand, “Forget it, then. It’s other Hollows, right? At least that’s what I heard from Tsukishima. That’s not really an easily accessible game for people like us for a plethora of reasons but I mean hell, who knows? If I’m satisfied with my delivery I might just have to send Ginjo out to grab me a few of those little bastards for you. What’s a former Soul Reaper for if not odd jobs like that?”

Kugo begrudgingly found his way behind them and felt his eye twitch slightly again, “Excuse me, so now I’m just your live-in Hollow exterminator…?”

“Hollow catcher,” Kukaku corrected.

Grimmjow curled his lips and made a noise in his throat, “Ugh, as if I’m such a poor hunter on my own that I need an already half-assed fighter to catch a meal for me. No offense, Shiba, but if you’re gonna make this guy do anything for me I’d rather you get a--”

A stub of an arm was pointed back at the arrancar, “Business in the parlour. I’ll listen to you fully, but if I’m trying to maintain a system here I can’t go about making deals in my storage rooms.”

Kugo felt a familiar muscle in his left shoulder tense up as it normally did with stress. As he reached up to try and give himself some relief to it, he debated if he should make another remark to Grimmjow and Kukaku that he wasn’t just some chore boy or exchangeable item… then again, with how weird and wild these two were, his words would fall on deaf ears, anyways.

--------

A/N: This chapter took longer to come out than I intended simply because in the time frame I wanted to finish the last five paragraphs I ended up getting a looottt of work piled on me, but fortunately it’s up now! Next chapter will hopefully be only a few days behind it!

#bleach #kugo ginjo #grimmjow jeagerjaques #fanfic

[taffyandstevenuniverse]

Rock Tutorial

I was asked for a tutorial, so I made one. This is done in Clip Studio Paint Ex. I have no downloaded brushes, so no worries about that. You can experiment with other tools/setting in other programs as well.

There’s 16 images/steps below the cut.

Final product is (ignore the stick figure):

Pfffffffft it started out like this tbh. It was just so I could organize the panels and basic composition of the comic.

Next. I did the actual sketch. Rocks are natural and random. I mixed it up between round and pointy edges. I mostly use round I suppose. Then I added lines within the rocks. this will help with edges. Again, they can vary between round and jagged edges. I used “Colored Pencil”.

I only just started this, but lining backrounds helps a lot. I also practiced with line thickness, something I want to work with more often. It helps give depth to which rocks are closer and farther. I use “Dense Watercolor”, but any tool you line with works.

I then gave the colors a base color, based on depths. In this case they were lighter closer to the opening, but it can always switch. Like, it would be better to be lighter farther back for sayyyy mountains. for atmospheric perspective. I used fill bucket set to “Refer Other Layers” on a layer below the lines. It doesn’t always fill the thin points, so I clean those up. (I notice a few parts I missed, but that’s besides the point.)

I added the background color after Steven, but here it is for example. It’s under the colors of the rocks. I think I used “Opaque Watercolor”.

Make a layer above the color, and make sure to clip it to it.

In the next screenshots, I used “Lasso Tool” to randomly choose spaces based on the sketch. I use a large pen tool (doesn’t matter which one) and fill them with colors elsewhere. I started by adding darker onto the close rocks from the far rocks, and so on until I liked it. After each color, you can deselect and select other areas.

I hid the sketch and added grass color.

(The next ones look different because they are. I just re-drew the ones above for the tutorial.) I lightly used “Soft Airbrush” (might’ve been “Shadow”) to add a few colors for depth.

On another layer at 75% Brightness, I used the same colors to add texture. I can’t quite remember which brush I used. It might’ve been “Running Color Spray” or “Running Color Edge Watercolor”. Sponge brushes also work!

I used “Opaque Watercolor” on a Color Burn layer to clarify a few edges. I experimented with color until I was satisfied. Apparently, it was pink.

This is an optional step (technically all of them are) and personally liked it better without, but you can also change the lineart color by making a clip layer over it and choosing what colors you like.

Here it the final layers.

Enjoy!

#tutorial #rocks #art #art tips #art tutorial #drawing tutorials #drawing rocks #rock tutorial #rock

[walkingshcdow-a]

Title: Castle Tours Rating: K+ Summary: Finnegan tries to have a dramatic moment alone in Castle Erskine after he and Victor have an argument. Maybe he should have stayed in the private wing.  Tagging: @tinfoiltemplar

The thick cotton sweatshirt kept the draft of Castle Erskine from touching Finnegan’s skin as he slouched through the halls of his ancestral home. He blended in well with the tourist crowd, if only because he’d traded his suit for a pair of faded jeans and his usually coiffed hair for something decidedly disheveled. If Edie could see him - and thank God she was in Salisbury for the weekend - she would accuse him of being melodramatic. If Victor could see him, he’d just feel sorry; thank God Finnegan left him at home. Finnegan didn’t want to be seen by anyone. He followed the tour group from hall to hall and sitting room to sitting room. He remembered when his grandfather began opening the renovated wings to the public and he remembered which rooms hadn’t always been part of the tour. He thought about his lonely childhood and how, later, he would come to see the time spent here with his mother’s family as a blessing. He missed her, if only because he supposed a mother was who you turned to during this sort of crisis and Finnegan suspected that his mother would have been more indulgent of his melancholy than Edie was. He wouldn’t know, but he frowned up at her portrait - a portrait of her and Edie, actually, done sometime between his parents’ marriage and his birth. Edie teased sometimes that it was Finnegan’s first portrait and he tries to see it now - a roundedness at his mother’s waist that he cannot recall from life or else a secret, prideful gleam in her eyes. Unsure if it was there or if it was an old family story, the kind that Edie used to remind Finnegan that whatever monstrosity his father had become, some kind of goodness ran through Finnegan’s veins, Finnegan still managed to envy her. Catherine of Mar hadn’t needed help to bring a child into this world and monster though he was, her husband had wanted that child. Finnegan knew that much. He shoved his fists into his hoodie pockets and fished around for a cigarette. Alighting upon the case, he pulled one out and reached for his lighter, but a security guard eyed him and Finnegan thought better of trying to convince someone on his family’s payroll that he had the right. The guard’s gaze slid to a portrait of Finnegan, two paintings down, which had been done shortly after he acquired FinneCorp, then the one done for his and Victor’s second anniversary. By the time the guard looked back, Finnegan skulked up the stairs, following the sound of voices - another tour group. 

He joined the fringes of the group and the tour guide shot him a glare. A less prideful man might have looked apologetic. Finnegan only shrugged and took keen interest in the ancient, buttercream wallpaper. It sparked vague memories of talcum powder and his mother’s perfume. By the time he remembered the Speak and Spell and the dozen army men he broke in a year, it was too late. The guide had already said what this room was: a nursery. If he thought he could sneak back out, Finnegan would have. Instead, trapped between employees who might recognize him in a room that was once privately used by his family, he could only stare in horror at the restorations Edie had made in the last few decades. It looked truly Victorian. The sleek lines his mother favored and foisted upon the castle were gone. Only a few pieces were ones Finnegan had used as a boy - the rocking chair, the rocking horse, the blocks that he’d turned into towers. Everything else must have been museum and charity auction finds. None of it was meant for an actual baby. Surely there was too much lead in the paint or something, yet a wistfulness rose in  him. Of course no real baby would use these things. He was the end of the family line. His tongue soured in his mouth. Finnegan blinked hard for a few seconds. When had Edie relinquished this room to the tour? Before or after Finnegan married Victor? Before or after Victor said he did not want children? Somehow, Finnegan was sure that knowing the answer would hurt just as badly as wondering. Ignoring the camera flashes from strangers’ cell phones, Finnegan stepped towards the rocking horse. He’d ridden it until he was too big and even then, he’d threatened to ride it until someone taught him to ride a real horse. He always thought that if there was any toy he’d pass down to a son or daughter, it would be this. Now it sat on display with an empty crib in a room that would never be a nursery again. If Victor was here, would he change his mind? Would he understand that maybe there was something more than a legacy at stake or would he just-

“Sir!”

Finnegan looked up, eyes swimming. His grasp around the rocking horse’s ear tightened. The tour guide advanced on him. 

“We ask that guests not touch the displays,” she said. “These are priceless artefacts and we do our best to respect the countess and her family.” 

“Do you answer directly to the countess, then?” he asked. 

“Sir-?”

“Never mind.”

Finnegan stuffed his hand back into his pocket and wandered into the hall. 

[To: Victor Finnegan ICE] Can you get away? We need to-

He stopped typing, deleted it and tried again.

[To: Victor Finnegan ICE] Can you get away? I need you-

He tried a third time.

[To: Victor Finnegan ICE] I’m still angry, but I miss you more than anything. Come to Castle Erskine and we’ll talk. 

And without waiting for a response, he pulled out his master key, opened the staff panel and disappeared through it to a chorus of, “Sir!” and “That exit is off-limits to guests!” 

#;;from the third richest family in england | {finnegan} #.002 | modern #x. drabble #((this disaster))